Yale University Library 39002082732190 hs»" Edec642g YALE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY IRELAND. DUBLIN, THE SHANNON, LIMERICK, » CORK, AND THE KILKENNY RACES, THE ROUND TOWERS, THE LAKES OF KILLARNEY, THE COUNTY OF WICKLOW, O'CONNELL AND THE REPEAL ASSOCIATION; BELFAST AND THE GIANT'S CAIJSEWAY. B Y J. G. K 0 H L. NEW-YORK: HARPER & BROTHERS, 83 CLIFF-STREET. 1844. IRELAND. DUBLIN. The Bay of Dublin, shallow and unprotected ft 3iu winds, may have but little value in a sail or's eye, but to the stranger it affords a beauti ful prospect, particularly if he contemplates it, as was my case, on a fine cheerful morning, from the deck of a steamer, after having spent the night in a storm at sea. The land, stretch ing forward in two peninsulas, looks as if it were opening its arms to receive him. In the southern hand it bears the harbour and town of Kingstown, in the northern the harbour and lown of Howth, and deep in its bosom it cher ishes the metropolis of the country, the ancient Irish Ballagh-Ath-Cliath, a name which it re tains to the present day. Ptolemaeus called it erroneously Eblana, and to all the non-Irish part of the world it is known under the denomination of Dublin. On the left side, near Kingstown, lies the lit tle island of Dalkey, and on the right side, near Howtb, the equally little island called Ireland's Eye The name is characteristic and appropri ate, for just here in the middle of the, eastern coast it is that Ireland may be said to have open ed her eye to look out towards England. Per haps it would be nearer the truth to say that her eye has here been forced open ; for had Ireland her own way, could she free herself from her vicinity to, and her dependence on, England — could she, in short, turn her back on England- she would have opened her eye in a very differ ent direction. O'Connell, the great Irish pa triot, has his summer residence in the far west of the island, on the Atlantic coast, into which he takes much more pleasure in looking, than into the Irish Sea and over to England; and most of the Irish, had they their own way, would probably like to run over to the Atlantic coast, and erect their capital there. For 600 years, however, England has made Ireland turn her obstinate head round, and not keep her back turned upon her neighbour. The ancient capital of Ireland, if such an ex pression will here apply, was Tara. Dublin is the capital of English making. Richard I. built a castle here in 1204, and made it the seat of the principal courts of law, and the residence of his vice-governor. Since then, marks of favour, and titles of magistracy, and charters, and cor porations, and public buildings, and Wellington monuments, have been poured forth upon the city, till it has grown to be'great and more beau- ful than even London and Edinburgh; and on the other hand, the loyal citizens of Dublin un der their provosts and lord mayors, and the Eng lish armies under their lords deputies and their lords lieutenant, arid episcopal excommunica tions, and royal letters of menace, have since then kept pouring forth from tbe city upon the rest of the country, which, through the agency jf Dublin, has continued to become more and moie dependent and more and more English.* * The history of the subjection, colonization, and orga- We (that is, my only fellow-passenger in the steamer, and myself) landed at Kingstown, close to two very illustrious footsteps hewn out of the rock on the quay. They are the steps of George IV., who landed here when he visited Ireland in 1821, and to whose honour a monument has been erected close to the two said steps. I scarcely thought flattery had been so well un derstood in Great Britain. To hew out the- steps of the sovereign on his visit to one of his principal cities, and erect monuments in com memoration of the event! One would suppose Ireland a little out-of-the-way place somewhere beyond the Orkneys, when one finds the visit of its sovereign treated as so memorable an occur rence ; and, in fact, when we consider that Ire land, near as it is to London, was never visited by George III., nor by George II., nor by George I., and that during the century that preceded them, the country never saw its sovereign ex cept in arms, for the suppression of foreign or domestic enemies, it may not be unfair to speak of Ireland, by the side of the great man-of-war; England, as a little captured bark taken con temptuously in tow. Our kings of Prussia fre quently gladden their several provinces with a visit, except Lithuania perhaps, to which one does not often hear of their going; the emperors of Russia are almost always on the move, and show themselves now in Moscow, now in St. Petersburg, now in Odessa, now in Warsaw — in short, in all parts of their dominions except in Siberia ; the emperors of Austria, on their accession, go to receive the homage of all but their Walachian subjects; Ireland, the impor tant third of the mighty imperial trinity of Great Britain, has been left to the left, like the Lithu ania of Prussia and the Siberia of Russia, and on every new accession of a British sovereign, all that Ireland has had to do has been to waft her applause across the Channel, as well as she has, been able jo do so with her bound and fet tered hands. A man, when he lands in Ireland, however, comes to honour without being precisely a king. "Your honours," was the first salutation we met with. It was from a Dublin car-driver. " It's early, your honours, and the railroad won't be ".-arming its engine for you this hour and a half to come. Take my car, your honours, and I'll drive you up to your hotel, and that's more than the engine will do for you." The reason ing seemed good enough, and the offer was ac cepted. The vehicle we embarked in seemed strange and grotesque to me It was a kind of square box, with glasses in the front, and we entered from behind. The machine went upon nization of Ireland, from Dublin as a central point, pre sents many striking .points of resemblance with the con quest of Finland by the Swedes from Abo, and with the organization of LavOuia. C'ourland, and Eslhonia by the Germans from Riga ; Livonia, Finland, and Ireland, may be looked on as three 'German colonial suites, formed by foreign intruders, among native population? looked upon at in a state of barbarism. IRELAND. two wheels, and resembled some of the Chinese equipages of which I have read. Dublin is the second city of the United King dom, but is at the same time one of the first and largest of Europe ;' for in population it falls lit tle short of St. Petersburg, Moscow,: and Vien na; rivals Berlin and Lisbon; and surpasses Brussels, Stockholm, Rome, Milan, and Pesth. Few of these capitals have risen to their present importance in so short a time as Dublin. St. Petersburg alone surpasses it in this respect, and Berlin about equals it. The best compar ison, however, would be with Pesth, which, like Dublin, is the capital of a dependant kingdom, and, as the residence of a viceroy, has risen from a- collection of wooden booths and basket work huts, to be one of the handsomest cities of Eu rope. Dublin, havingibeen built by Englishmen, has quite the exterior of an English city. With the exception of its wretched suburbs, and the quar ters abandoned to miser)', Dublin has only what may be seen in most of the larger English towns; The private houses of the wealthy, as in Eng»! land, are small; neat; and p|ain, and the public buildings equally rich in pillars' and ornaments, in rotundas, colonnades, and portalst - The quays, lighthouses, docks, and patent slips, remind one of Liverpool, and- the noble Custom-house, the Postoffiee, with its Ionic; and the Four' Courts, ¦with its Corinthian- columns, are all splendid buildings, but of the same character as those one meets with in England. Then the streets are spacious and the side pavements: broad arid convenient, as in English towhs; the squares, perhaps, more beautiful) and the buildings even more ornamental. This- word " ornamental" is, very characteristic of English towns. The French talk of their " viMes ¦monitmeMaUs" the English tell one of their ornamental1 towns, by which they mean towns that contain buildings with a profusion- of pillars. The Russian and American cities are the only ones that can match thdse of England1 in< point- of pillars. In Ger many we talk of our " antique and picturesque" cities,. and thdse we have, whereas the Briglish have them not, with all their columns; Of CQursfe,.sweeping rulesbf this kind are not with out exceptions. Nelson pillars and Wellington testimonials, tod;>dre not wanting in Dublin; any more than in- English' towns generally. Trinity College has its beautiful gardens; shut'hp from the pub lic, like the colleges at Oxford, and the Castle, tbe'restdence of the viceidy; is: bur a repetition of ma»y similar castles: in> Etjgtona; Nor let It be supposed; that. Ireland befog a' Catholic doun- tryjits capital mustHherefbre' present the decora^ tidd'of ' did churehes'aTid convents, venerable ca thedrals, > and quaint eha'pete at the corners of the'Ktreets. Nothing Of thekriid: The* stranger sees as little' Catholicism' in' Dublin as be does Protestantism in Prague.- No processions, no monks; no priests about the streets. The Catho lic ehapr'ls, as they are ea1led,iare generally small places, and retire1 ifromview into the lanes 'and alleys* of the city. It is only since 1745 that the Catholics have been allowed tb'operi their chap; els at all. The Protestant Episcopal churchesr of which there are more than twenty, look very morn, like the Protestant churches of England, add'tHe' celebrated cathedral' of St. Patrick's, the m6s\ distinguished of all the. ancient ecclesias tical edifices of Ireland,- is in the whole of its: arcMtecrare the veiy ditto of the cathedrals of Chester, Carlisle, and others in the west of Eng land. I could not, however, reconcile it to my self to find that in the churches of St. Patrick's, St. Kevin's, and of other Irish Catholic saints, whose names can have little signification for Protestant; Englishmen, no Catholic service should be held. I had not crossed the Channel in a storm to find myself still in England. Ire land, national Irelend, I had come to see, but that' I found had to be sought elsewhere than in its great towns. I therefore made but a short stay in the merry capital; .and determined to. make a round through the west and south, after which it was my intention lb' return tb Dublin, iii order to inform rhysielf oh various matters' of a characteristic arid general interest. FROM DUBLIN TO EDGEWORTH- TOWN. A man must travel a long way by railroad in England, or had' best make up his, mind to cross over to Ireland at once, if he wish to see the an tique stage coach offices which formerly abound ed in the cpuntry, arid which are so humorously described by the greater part of the writers ori. England. The first" day on which I saw one of ithese establishments was in Dublin, and on the 26th of September, on which day I prepared my self' for my departure for the interior of the green island. The first glance at such an office is not calculated to produce a very favourable im pression. The many , long-printed bills on the wall, warning travellers that the office holds itself in, no way responsible for dahiage done to a traveller's effect?, nor even for their loss, nor for the retention of his place, and hinting various other equally agreeable contingencies, are apt to fill a stranger's mind with uneasiness. Then he is somewhat embarrassed as to where he shall, sit. Inside there's as little spare room as in a herring-cask, and on the outsidej a little iron bulwark, otly four inches high, is all that guards him. against an abyss of fifteen feet. The sight of it is enough to rhake a man. giddy.. To say, truth, tbe places in and on an English stage coach are the most, comfort jess things of their, kind,, on earth, a,nd I was at first at a loss to rec oncile them with the characteristic love of the English for convenience. I solve the riddle thus; In every undertaking the English keep the main, end steadily in view. This, in their houses, is dpmestic comfort; and accordingly hothing;can be more ful i of comfort than an Eng- lish house. In travelling, the main end is tp get On as fa^t as possible, and whatever can contrib ute to; this is admirably arrabged. , The car riages, though as solid asMron and steel can malte them, are of surprising lightness, the hors es swift as birds, and the coachmen all artists in, their line; but cqnvenientjSeats you must not hope, for, nor will you find it advisable to carry much luggage' with yi>u j, all you have a rightto expect is, that wet or dry„clean, or dirty, with whole b6nes or. broken, you ,wiU be brought to the end of your jourrri%within.a few minutes of ijhe appointed time! .Every other consideration is of secondary importance to a man ,of busi ness, and of every hundred who travel in Eng land, ninety do s6 on business. I always choose an outside place. You can thtmce see the country conveniently right and left, provided you do not lose your head in start ing. The gateways of most English coach-offi ces — and this again is an enigma— are so low that every outside passenger would infallibly IRELAND. leave his head behind him, if he neglected the warning of the guard, who in a loud voice calls on every man id stoop his head. • "All right !" cried the guard just as the clock struck six, or rather just as the hand of thecloclt pointed to that hour; for in an English town there are more clocks that show the hour, and fewer that announce^ it in an audible tone, than in one of our own cities. "All right! stoop •your heads, gentlemen !" Thirteen heads were iient in obedience to Ihe word of command, and by the time vje had raised them a^ain, and made ourselves as comfortable as we could, we were rolling away from the city of Dublin, into the county of the same name. Our road lay through the heart of Ireland, through its most peopled and most fertile prov^ ,ihces, over the rich plains of Dublin, Kildare, Meath, Westmeath, and Longford, and the end of .my journey was to be Edgewor.thtown, a place .whither I had been invited by one whose name • ys known and honoured in Germany, and the in vitation had been given with so much kindness, that I had resolved to stay some little timethere, -in order to sharpen and prepare my powers of perception, for the observance of Irish matters. For, in many respects, a man coming into a new country is like one suddenly brought into a dusky cellar, where he overlooks many things and sees others in a false light, because his eyes are not yet accustomed to the place. Not that I would , have a traveller say nothing of a country till he- lave familiarized himsjslf with it, apd become .almost a native; on the contrary, the progress of his familiarisation, nay, his very errors and misconceptions, may have in them much that is characteristic of the scenes he visits. The counties I havejustmentioned, and which Jie immediately west from Dublin', are the most .fertile of Ireland, are celebrated for, their good cultivation, and are looked upon as a sort of Land of Promise by the poor people of Qlare, .Kerry, and others of the western districts. No where else, except in Wexford, is there so small a portion of the land lying waste in bog or moor; ^nowhere else are the cattle so fine, the corn sq good and abundant, and nowhere else have Engt Ksh improvements made more progress. These counties were always advantageously situated for the reception of English settlers, arid for the introduction of the English language; the lan guage, superstition, and customs of Ireland have therefore been nearly extirpated, and an English character has been substituted. These are his torical and undeniable facts, and yet the travel ler who visits these happy regions for the first time, is apt to receive: quite a contrary impres sion, and.Io imagine himself in the most wretch ed part of the country. Till he has seen the west of Ireland, he has no, idea that human beings can live in a state of greater misery than in the fer tile environs of Dublin', or that a peopled and, cultivated land can look wilder, than the cprn- abouriding plains pf Meath, Kildare, and West meath., In, the west of Ireland there are districts where a man may imagine himself in a wilder ness abandpned by mankind; where nothing is. to be seen but rocks, bogs, and brushwood, and ¦where wild beasts alone may be supposed capa ble of housing. AH at once, however, on closer inspection, little; green patches, like potato- fields, are seen' scattered; here and there amjd »hej rocks, and a stranger is tempted to go nearer;and examine tljem. Let him.ipok where he is, going, however, or, he may make, a false step; the, earth ' may give way under his feet, and he may fall into — What! into an abyss, a cavern, a bog?— No, into a hut, into a human dwelling-place, whose existence he had overlooked, because the roof on ope side was level with the ground, and nearly of the same consistency. Perhaps my traveller may draw back his foot just in time, and then let him look around, and he will find the place filled with a multitude of similar huts, all swarming with life and potatoes. It is not so bad certainly in the happy regions of the east, but even these can scarcely be said to have the appearance of a cultivated Country-^ a sqcS-eultivated country is out of the question. In a well-cultivated country, I expect to see fields neatly marked off with hedges and ditches, and bordered here and therewith trees and other signs of demarkation or defence. Among these fields I expect to see neat farmhouses and vil lages, with roofs in sound condition, and yards orderly and tidily kept, instead of being £lled with a chaotic mass of stagnant rainwater and drainings from the dunghill. The farmer's house I expect to see high and dry with its little garden, pretty to look on, though kept for use rather than show, but in which, nevertheless, the cultivator may show his taste in the rearing and grafting of his apple, pear, and peach trees. There must be the dairy scrupulously clean, and the tidy kitchen with its brightly scoured pots and dishes, and the orderly sitting-room for the farmer's family, and perchance now and then a company room for particular occasions; but why do 1 dwell pn things, the very trace of which is lost almost as soon as one leaves Dublin? I discovered nothing that deserved to be called hedges or fences, and as to gardens,, fruit-trees, or flower-beds, I could see nothing of the kind. I was at first at a loss how to distinguish .the cultivated from the uncultivated land. Instead of cheerful farmhouses I beheld ruinous huts, and whenever the coach stopped, I got down that I might, see the interiors of the houses, which excited my astonishment. This was in the most prosperous part of Ireland, and along the high way. Bow must things have looked in more secluded places 1 Often I could seequite enough without getting down, for at times I could study thglnterior economy of the establishment.through the holes in the roof— the fractured plates inline kitchen, the potato-kettle on the hearth, the heap of damp straw for a bed in one corner, and ithe pigsty in another !, The landlords of Ireland, according to Spen cer, who wrote a book on the country 300 years ago, draw their rents from their pbor tenants, but do not assist them in the erection of their houses, in the fencing of their fields, or in the repair, of their roads. If they did, they would deuve as much advantage as, their tenants from such a course; hut they leave everything to chance, and let ,their tenants get on as well as they can. Spencer then goes on to describe the cottage of an Irish farmer in terms quite as suit able to the present day. The Irish landlords, it would seem, are even worse than the great Po lish and Russian proprietors, who at least build houses for their peasants, and furnish them with food in times of famine. This the Irish landlord does not do, because his tenant is a free man, though with only the inconveniences of freedom — ?uch as hunger, want, and care — without any ;of ii'ts, advantages. He, capnot he -flogged, it must be thankfully admitted. The lgnd here is; everywhere level, .without IRELAND. any picturesque mountains and valleys, or ru ined castles and abbeys. The traveller, there fore, beholds no natural beauties to atone for the absence of that adornment which human in dustry might have given to the scene. Eventhe waters have a melancholy cast. The i_,irtey, which we crossed twice, receives several tribu taries from the Bog of Allen, and has, in con sequence, a brownish colour, like most of the rivers of Ireland. This brownish colour, it must be observed, does not prevent the water from be ing limpid ; on the contrary, one may see down to a great depth in these brown rivers; but ' brown is quite as much the colour of Ireland as green, and the country might just as well have been called the topaz jsland as the emerald isle. At Mullingar the road became, for a while, more interesting. Here it was that I saw the first Irish lake, Lough Owel ; and hence, wheth er north or west, a great number of lakes are to be met with. In the neighbourhood of Dublin there are none, nor all the way between Dublin and Cork, but in the north-western part of the island their number is very great. I left Lough Owel and Lough Iron to the left, 'and Lough Dereveragh to the right, with very little regret; for lakes in a plain, without mountains to be pictured in their bosoms, are like mirrors with out a pretty face to be reflected by them. To wards evening I arrived at Edgeworthtown, where I spent some agreeable days in a delight ful circle. EDGEWORTHTOWN. This is a cheerful little town, in the county of Longford, and has received its name.from a fam ily which has become famed throughout the civ ilized world, ib consequence of the writings of the amiable Maria Edgeworth. This family came over — ^most of the families that own land in Ireland are of English origin, and will often take occasion to tell their friends and guests when their ancestors came over from England, in the same way that some English families will -talk of tbe time when their ancestors came over from Normandy — well,then,theEdgeworthscame over inl583, under the reign of dueen Eliza beth. The family was at that time also pos sessed of land in Middlesex. In Ireland they became the owners of extensive domains and1 -castles, and, among other places, of the village of Fairymount, a name which, in its Gallicized -form of Firmont, has become celebrated through out the world. The Abbs Edgeworth, who ac companied Louis XVI. to the scaffold, derived from this village his name of Monsieur de Fir mont. The father of Maria has also obtained for him self a name of some distinction by his writings. His essays are chiefly on mechanical subjects, and many interesting little contrivances are still shown at Edgeworthtown in testimony of the mechanical genius of Richard Lovell Edge- worth. Among these, are doors that open when a knee is pressed against them, in order that a servant carrying, a loaded tray may enter the room without requiring assistance. The most remarkable of all, however, is an iron steeple that was erected in a very ingenious and eco nomical manner.' The lower square half of the steeple was built of stone in the usual way, but the upper rounded and pointed part was compo sed of iron bars and plates, which were put to gether in the lower body of the building, and when all was ready, by a simple but ingenious mechanism, one half of the steeple was drawn out of the other, like the inner tube of a tele scope, and in a few minutes the iron spire was raised to the necessary, altitude, and was then screwed on to the top of the square tower. This gentleman also wrote *everal works con jointly with his daughter, as the Essay on Prac tical Education and the humorous Essay on Iiisk Bulls. And now, I have no doubt, many of my German readers will expect of me a very Da guerreotype of the amiable, cheerjpl, intelligent, and witty authoress, and a precise description of the little corner by the window of her pretty libra ry, her usual sitting-room, and of the little wri ting-table, and of all the comfortable and agree able dependencies of the place where the Moral Tales,- the Popular Tales, Belinda, Leonora, Griselda, Castle Rackrent, Helen, and all her other delightful narratives, were imagined and put to paper. All this, I can easily believe, might be made extremely interesting; but I feel so invin cible an aversion against speaking in my books of living persons who have hospitably received me under their roofs, that I shall persist in my old practice, and shall merely invite my readers to accompany me in my walks about Edge worthtown, where they will find much that is characteristic of the country and '"' inhabitants, things with which I occupy myself at all times more willingly than with mere personalities. The Edgeworths have long been resident in Ireland, that is to say, they are not absentees, but live on their estate, and look to the comfort and welfare of their tenants. There are several no ble and wealthy families in the neighbourhood who do the same thing; among others the family of the Tuites, and I had, in consequence, an op portunity of seeing the wonderful effect which the presence of the owner of an estate has on the tenantry, and to how great an extent, therefore, the Irish landlords, who take no care for their dependents, are themselves responsible for the wretchedness of the country. I had not thought there could have been in Ireland such solid-look^ ing farmers as I here beheld on the estates of the two families I have mentioned. In the course of my excursions round Edgeworthtown,' I saw many a farmhouse as stately as the best of it.? kind that I had ever seen in England. The houses were as clean, and the rooms as comfort able, as I could have wished them to be. The rooms and staircases were carpeted, and wine and refreshments were offered me. On Mr. Tuite's estate I visited a number of farmers, and always found their houses tidy and orderly, with sides of bacon "suspended in the pantry, bright pewter dishes ranged upon the kitchen shelves, and good furniture and beds in the family rooms, just as I should have expected to find them in the houses of the wealthier peasantry in Ger many. The Tuite family, I was told, had lived on their estates for 300 years, had always been res ident, and the present owner was himself a very zealous and intelligent agriculturist. It is but seldom that one sees anything of this kind ia Ireland, and for that very reason, perhaps, it ex cites the more interest when one does see it for it inspires a belief that, with care and" kindliness, it would be possible to elevate the peasantry of Ireland, a thing which those who might best ef fect the change are usually least willing to ad mit, attributing the whole blame to the disord-r- ly, dirty, improvident, and intemperate habits .rf IRELAND. the people. Miss Edgeworth, in the memoirs of her father, gives the description of an intelli gent landlord animated by a determination to improve the condition of his tenants, and the course pursued by him would apply quite as well to the present day as to the time when it was first adopted. It often happens in, Ireland that a farm, origi nally sufficie'nt for the comfortable maintenance of a man and his family, becomes divided, after a few generations, into a number of holdings, each father giving a piece, of the land to each of his sons to set him up in the world. This sub division is one of ihe many causes of the poverty of the country. Every man is anxious to have a bit of land of his own to till, and, laudable as this desire is, it may, if carried too far, as is the ease in Ireland, become the occasion of many evils. An Irish farmer with a large family can not prevail on himself to show more favour to one child than the rest, and always endeavours to divide his farm in equal shares among all his children, whatever may be the tenure by which he holds it. The effect of this system is, that at last the land is divided into such small fractions, that a man and his family, on their diminutive holding, are always just on the verge between existence and starvation. If the farms were pre served in their original exten^, and the younger sons were sent out into the world, the elder sons would have more interest in the improvement andgood cultivation of the land, and the younger sons would in the end be the better off, for they would be spurred on to exert their ingenuity and industry 'in some other pursuit. The vast extent of most of the estates in Ire land offers a melancholy contrast to the minute ness of some of the farms, or rather potato grounds. Had the division of property existed in the upper classes also, the small landlords would gradually have approached nearer to the small farmers, and the subdivision of estates ¦would have acted as a check on the subdivision ©f farms. As it is, however, there is no country in Europe where the actual cultivators of the soil have so little property in the land they culti vate as in Ireland. In Russia there are. large estates, but the holdings of the peasants are large too. In Ireland there are single estates more ex tensive than German principalities, with farms {if such an expression can be applied) not larger than the bit of ground which an English gentle man would set aside for his rabbits in a corner of his park. In the county of Tipperary, out of 3400 holdings, there are 280 of less than an acre, and 1056 of more than one, but less than five acres. Another pernicious custom in Ireland, is what is called letting the land in partnership, often to whole villages, when each member of the part nership becomes personally responsible for the entire rent. This is, unfortunately, still so much the case in Ireland, according to the report of Mr. Nichols, the Poor Law Commissioner, that the common pasture grounds are constantly seen crowded with cattle, and the people are for ever disputing with each other as to who has the right to drive the greatest number of misera ble-looking beasts upon the common. If the land thus held in partnership is arable instead of pasture, they divide it into a number of small parcels, but this partition often leads to litigation, and constantly to disputes, each being apprehen sive lest his neighbourshould have the advantage of a few inches over him. The system of middlemen is another gigantic evil under which agriculture suffers in Ireland. Absentee landlords, not to have to do with a large number of tenants, but to receive their money conveniently in large sums, often let large tracts of country to small capitalists, who either let the land out to the actual cultivators or to other middlemen. In this way there was often between the landlord and his tenant a whole row of mid >€.nen, none of whom had any great interest in the land, but whose object it natural ly was to squeeze from the poor tiller of the soil the greatest possible amount of rent. The most atrocious part of the system was, that if a mid dleman failed, the landlord might come upon the tenant for his rent, even though it had already been paid .to the middlenflm. The Subletting Act, passed in the reign of George IV., has in terposed a check to the worst evils of this sys tem, but could not, be made to apply to contracts of an antecedent date, and there are leases in Ireland for terms of an almost indefinite length, on which this law can operate but slowly. Be sides an evil practice is not always to be sup pressed immediately by an act of parliament. Now these are evils, the like of which is cer tainly not to be met with elsewhere in Europe, and as little do I believe shall we meet elsewhere with implements of agriculture of so rude a kind as those employed in Ireland. There are dis tricts where the people, unable to construct a thrashing-floor, thrash their corn in the public road. Even at the present day, carts may be seen with wheels, but without spokes, nay, there are even vehicles without wheels, known under the denomination of " slide cars." Another important point is the nature of the tenure on which land is held. Many Irish farm ers are what is called " tenants at will," who can be turned off their holdings whenever the landlord pleases. It is unfortunately but too cer tain, that in. consequence of the O'Connell agita tion, the tenant at will tenure is very much on the increase. The granting of a lease give* the elective franchise to a tenant, and as the tenants have mostly exercised their political power in a spirit of hostility towards ' their landlords, it is not surprising that the latter should feel averse to the granting of leases. Nevertheless, the ten ure at will is a crying evil, and ought to be dis couraged by the law. The landlords ought to be all but compelled to grant leases to their tenants. This is what the Irish farmers wish for, and what, they demand under the title of " fixity of tenure," but no one appears to be able to propose any practicable plan for the reform Of the sys tem. , Nothing can show more clearly than this, the immense distance by which the peasantry in the other parts of Europe have got the start, in march of improvement, of the peasantry of Ire land. »: In most of the civilized countries of Europe — in France by a revolution, and in Germany by wise and well-timed reforms — the nobility have been deprived of their feudal power over their peasants, and these from serfs and slaves, have been converted into small proprietors. Even in Russia measures are in progress,, the object of which is to make the peasants less dependant on their lords, and gradually to give -them a proper ty in the land they till. In England and Ireland afone, people have' feared to ask themselves whether it would not be wise to give the poor oppressed Irish farmers a permanent interest in the soil, and to take measures, as has been done 8 IRELAND. in Prussia and. Saxony, to pave the way for the tetroductifpn of permanent leases,' for the reduc tion ', of exorbitant rehls, and then first to allow, and afterward to make it imperative, thatUhe tenant shall have it In his power to convert the permanent leasee into a freehold. No one here seems to have' dreamed of inquiring how this has been done in France, in Germany, and even in the Baltic provinces qf Russia; no one has yet been bold enough hefe to raise the question, whether the real cultivator of the soil has" not, in point of fact, a better claim to a property in it, than the noble owner whose privileges have al- mpst always had thei* origin in violence and in justice. People here have such a holy dread of touching, even ih the most remote way, what they call tfee " rights'pf brOperty," that they seem ihcapabh; of raising themselves to the level of the idea, th^at circumstances may arise to make it. the hnjhest political wisdom tO venture on the infringement of those rights. The titles by which the landed nobility of Europe hpld their estates and tenants are of in finite variety. In most cases they have origi nated in possession froni time immemorial, indi viduals having, in a dark age, of which all rec ord' has been lost, established their ascendancy, either by cunnjng or .violence. In some states, however,^ the, dependence and poverty of the till ers of the soil has been the consequence of the conquest of the country, and its partition among the conquerors. 'In general the 'date of this con quest went back to so remote a period, that the injustice which attached to the original title had been forgotten, or the estates had passed in the course of time into the possession of new fami lies, who could riot, in (he most remote degree, be held responsible for the original injustice. Could the law always have come upon the original wrong-doer or his immediate descend ants, no one would have accused the state of in justice if it had. said to him, "Yoii hold your lapij by an unjust title, so we shall take it from you and restore it to the poor peasants ^yhose an cestors were robbed by yours. Prussia and the other states of Germany did more than this. It was impossible for them to distinguish those titles that we're of a, vicious origin, so they pro ceeded against all alike, and forced them' all to abandon privileges injurious to the community at large, and to accept a moderate indemnity in exchary»e:' " What we in Germany have dime tp a hobtbjy, , whose privileges rested on incom parably better titles, people in Ireland do not venture to think of, with respect to a nobility holding its privileges by the worst possible titles. There is scarcely such a thing to be heard of in Ireland as a proprietor of land whose family, growing put of the people, have held their land from'time immemorial. The ancient national Irish nobles and landowners have, with very fe,w exceptipns,' beeh completely'destroyed. The best title that Sin Irish landowner can, in gener al, trace his possession to is violence, but this violence is ainaost always of no very ancient date, for though in the twelfth ceptury the Eng lish laid claim to all Ireland, in virtue of a gift from the pope, it was but a small portion of the country of which they took possession, and till the reign of Henry VIII. ana Queen Elizabeth, what was called " the Pale"" never occupied more than a third or fourth of the island. It was by Cromwell that the conquest pf Ireland was first completed, and by William lit. it may be said to have been repeated. Each' conquest. brought with it extensive confiscations, and the expulsion of the ancient owners of the land,' so much so that at present nine tenths of the whole Irish soil are held by families of English descent, and nearly every large landholder can still tell when his ancestors first became possessed of the estate. I have said that the best title an. Irish landholder can in general show fis violence — meaning conquest f but in many' cases estates were obtained by the ancestors of the present possessors by treachery and fraud. For a 'long time the law was that a son might dispossess his father," of a younger his elder brother, by em bracing Protestantism, and there are many, very many Irish landowners, whose possessions can, be shown to. have originated in the applicatioa of this atrocious law. In presence of such titles, what wise government ought to hesitate. to in- terfere-^not infleed with revolutionary measures calculated to throw everything into confusion, but to enact such salutary reforms, as would en able the poor tenants at will and leaseholders) gradually to convert their tenure into a freehold, so that the millions might not continue for ever to waste away rfor the profit of a few' oligarchs? •' -In my excursions to the farmers, of Sunna,il met with an old woman who spoke Irish and very little English; In her youth, she said, meaning fifty years ago, few people, here, in .thj». centre of Irelapd, spoke or understood anything1 but Irish ; but many of them had since forgotten it, and to the children nothing but English, was taught. There are few, she added, that can even bless themselves in Irish now ! She told me the ancient Irish name for Edgeworthtown, but; I have forgotten it. j It is strange that throughout Ireland, eyen in those parts' that have longest been Anglicized or Saxonized, the original names have been retain ed for the political divisions of the country. Thus in the vicinity of Edgeworthtown I met with Ihe townships of Camliskbey, Agadonagh, Ballinloughtagh, names. that must have had aa odd sound toJSaxoh ears. Several of. these town™ ships are sometimes united to form a parish, and by a unioh of several parishes a barony, is constituted. Some of these baronies have Eng lish names, but in the west they are Irish withi out an exception. Six or eight baronies. make a county: Of the counties many haye, English, names, as Waterford, Longford, Down,,Qtueeh1s) County, and King's County ; others agairii have retained genuine Irish denominations; as.Mofc aghan, Fermanagh, Donegal, &c. Several coun ties together form k province, of, whjch] there are four. The gentry and nobility in this part of Ireland understand nothing of Irish; indeejd' there are but few districts in the country where the land owners are able to converse with their, peasants in the native dialect.' In the neighbourhood ol Gal way, a thoroughly Irish city, even the gentry are said to understand Irish, and there the priests are obliged to preach in that language; There, too, the best Irish scholars are met with, amonif whom Dr. M'Hale, the Archbishop of Tuam and his Vicar-General, Dr. Loftus, are particu larly distinguished. The former is engager] in the publication of an Irish version of the Iliad, and lately published a translation of Thomas Moore's poems. • Large parties of Irish labourers passed through. Edgeworthtown during my stay there, and exci ted my compassion by their melancholy appear ance. I had seen several swarms of them on IRELAND. 9 the road from Dublin, and all of therp complain ed of having rn^de Sp little rapriey in England this 'time. Eyery year npmbers of these labour ers wander away from the western parts of Ire land, particularly from Connaught, to assist the English fanners in getting in the harvest. It happened, however, that this year sp many .men were put of 'employment in England, ' that la bourers cpuld be had in abundance at low wa ges, andthe poor Irish, in consequence, had had a bad time of it; ragged and hungry they had gone pyer to England, and even so they return ed, having scarcely earned enough to defray the cost of the journey. These periodical migra tions of Irish labourers occur as regularly as the movemehts of so many' birds of pasSage.j; "VV ages in England, on an average, are twice as high as' in Ireland, and the Irish harvesters, .ac customed to the cheapest food, are generally able to bring back ihe greater part of what they earn. The men have usually a bit of ground inj Donegal, Clare, Mayo, Cdnnemara, or some-: where among' the bogs and mountains of the; west, and as soon as they hive put their owhj .fields in order 'they start lor one of .the eastern! ports — D u'blin, Belfast, Dundalk, ' ,&c. — and pross oyer to England, leaving .their families atj home. Their' little harvest is often attended to by their wives, cjr,' as arnong the mountains cif, Connaught the harvest is generally later than in. England, the men are often at home again quite! in time to attend to the gelling m of their own: produce. During harvest time in England and Scotland the services of these Irish labourers are, of great importance, and sometimes it would be difficult,' without iheif aid, to get the harvest inj at all. ' ! They generally return every year to the] same part of the country, and work for the same: farmers who employed them at the preceding harvest ; thus if often happens that a district in England will have its coin cut and gathered in eyery year by labpurers from some particular district in Ireland. ' To see poor Paddy with a rueful countenance is the more moving, as it so seldom happens to him to carry a look of care about with Kim ; but this year, gloom was fixed on almost every face that returned frorn England. Some even complained, that of the little they had earned they had been robbed by the rioters in the Eng lish manufacturing districts. The poor fellows thought of their families at home, who were counting on the harvest penny that was to pay the rent, arid supply a le-tf pressing warits. For tunately the potato-harvest was a productive brie, but how they were' tp fight it put during the win(ef with the landlord and the driver, Heaven only knew. I have seen rnigrations of harvest ers somewhat similar, tiri many parts of Europe, but nowhere did they produce so melancholy an impression upon rrie 'as iri Ireland ; neither the North Germans, wandering away to the rich marshes of Holland'; nor the poor, Croats, Bo hemians, and mountaineers, froni Hungary ,Bo- hemia, and Styria, on their way to the fertile low lands of the Danube.; nor the Swiss descending from their Alps into the teeming plains of Lom- ba i dy ; nor the mowers that swa,rm yearly from the' central part of Russia, into the thinly-peo pled steppes of the southern provinces. Mountains and valleys, rocks, ravines, and plains, nay,' sometimes even the caverns, are a'll covered with bog in Ireland. Where cultivation cpa'ses',"the bog begins, arid the whole island'inay be said; to be la'bog'with'occasional interruptions. There are parts of Germany, France, and the Netuerlands, which also seern to Have a decided tendency to the formation of bog, but nowhere else is this so much the case as in Ireland. Our ,Harz Mountains have sorne "bog it is true, but in Ireland the very summits of 'such mountains are covered with bog, and wherever cultivation. recedes, the bog' respmes possession of the aban doned ground- The humidity of the climate, (I suppose, is the chief though not the only cause of this phenomenon. The decayed vegetable mat ter, which in other countries dries and resolves- itself into dust',' leaves here a considerable re siduum, which is augmented in the following year by the new residua of decayed 'plants, and a rapid accumulation "thus takes place, a quan tity of moisture being held in absorption, till gradually immense compact masses are formed. A young bog, one that is yet but in its infancy, is called a " quaking bog ;" but in time, when, the mass becomes more compact,' and assumes a black colour, it is known as a turf-bog, or peat-bog. The vegetables, whose residua go to~ the formation of these bogs, are of cpurse^f in finite variety. The mosses, as they decay, forin, a loose, spongy mass, often so tqugh that the tupf-spade' will not pierce it, and it then goes by the name of " old wife's tow." Sonietiines the bog is formed almost wholly of mosses, some times of mosses mixed with the remains of other plants. Hence arise two principal descriptions of morasses in Ireland, the fed or dry bogs, and the" green or wet bogs. The former yields a light, spongy turf that quickly burns away, the latter a heavy, black turf.' Sonje of the green bogs, however, are so wet, that no turf can tje obtained from them at all. The Irish bogs are at once a source of wealth, and a cause of poverty to Ireland. :They yield fuel to the poor, but at the same time Cover rriuch fertile land, which they withhold from cultivation, and they spoil the water of the fiv ers, fill the a'trnosphere' everywhere with a turfy smell, arid iniect'the air with unwholesome ex halations; they are oftenya great hinderance to internal communication, and have lOng served as places of refuge to the thieves and,outlaws of Ireland, who, according to Bbate, could riot ex ist without the bogs. The object Of 'the Irish ought to be to subject to a wise system of econ- ohiy those bogs that yield good fuel,1 and to have all the others drained and brought under cultiva tion. Hitherto the Irish have done neuter of these two things; they' have not economized their turf, and they have not drained the unpro ductive bogs,' because these were for along time looked upon as the niost effectual natural pro tection against the English. The English, in deed, " the introducers of all that is good into Ireland," as Boate calls them, (he might witty equal justice have called them the authors of much evil there), haye for centuries laboured at the draining of these bogs, and lately again a. company has been formed for the reclaiming of, Irish, bogs, but, compared to the quantity of bogs that exists,' little or nothing has hitherto been done, and even at the present' day the traveller in Ireland seldom finds himself on any point whence he may not see bog within his horizon.' It would seem that there was a time when, if not the entire island, at least portions pf it, must have, been better cultivated, and less covered with morasses than at" present, for there are large tracts of bog, under which'tl^e soil shows the most distinct traces of former cultivation by the 10 IRELAND. jjlough. Nay, some Irish historians point to certain districts, which, alter having been laid waste by this or that English general or chief, rapidly became converted into a morass. While 1 was at Edgeworthtown, I heard the people talk a great deal of the Centre of Ireland, and a farmer one day accompanied me to an arti ficial mound, which the people looked upon as the said central point. This mound is called 'the Moate of Lisserdowling. We were, ho doubt, very near the centre, but the hill in ques tion, it is equally certain, was not that centre, the precise locality of which it would be diffi cult to determine. The Moate of Lisserdowling -is a round conical hill, about forty feet high, and about five hundred feet in circumference: It, stands on a plain, and is surrounded by cornfields, and being planted with trees and while-thorn bushes, presents a stately object on the naked level. On the summit the moate was flat, with •an indentation in the middle, leaving a few ,stones bare, that seemed to form a part of some masonry concealed under the turf, by which the "whole of the artificial hill was covered. The .popular tradition, I was told, assigned the moate as a dwelling-place to an ancient Irish chief of the name of Naghten O'Donnell, and a small by-road in the neighbourhood is still called after him, "Naghten's Lane." The hill stands in high repute throughout the country, and is a fa vourite resort on fine afternoons, when hundreds may be seen sitting and lying on its sides ; but not one of these visiters remains after dark, ;when the Moate of Lisserdowling, and the lane leading to it, are abandoned to the fairies,, or "good people," as they are called in Ireland. Nor will any one touch a stone or. stick on the hill, "unless they have had a dream," as my farmer expressed himself, " and have had a com mission from the good people." I observed on the side of the mount the stump of an old thorn- bush. My guide informed me that the bush it- jself had been blown down one windy night, many years ago, and had been left to rot on the ground where it fell, no dhe daring to touch it, though in general the poor people are ready •enough to appropriate' to themselves anything burnable that ^»ey may find by the wayside. Young trees they will steal with very little re morse, but wood growing on one of these fairy mounts is almost always secure from their dep redations. On the following day I visited a similar hill, the Moate-o'-Ward, which was likewise cover ed with white thorns, and in the sequel I met with great numbers of these artificial hillocks, of which Ireland contains many more than either England or Scotland. The people call them moats, a word used in English to designate the ditch of a fortress. In Irish they are called -"raths," a word bearing precisely the same sig nification. They are also sometimes called " Danes' Mounts," for in Ireland, as every art of -destruction is charitably set down to Cromwell's account, so every erection of a remote date is at tributed to the Danes. The popular belief is unanimous, therefore, in giving the Danes the credit of having^rected these tumuli, as fortress es whence they might hold the country in sub jection, and when the Danes had been expelled, an Irish chief here and there chose the deserted fastness for his dwelling place. The learned are not quite so unanimous in their views as to the origin of these erections. Some go with the stream, and set them down to Danish account ; others believe the hillocks to be of a much more ancient date, and to have formed the strongholds of the ancient native kings. In the north of Ire land is a mound of enormous size, said to haye been the seat of the Kipgs of Ulster. Probably this earthy architecture, which appears tp have been so widely diffused over Ireland, was the work of different ages, of various races, and had more objects than one in view. Nearly all the nations of Europe, in the infancy of their civili zation, seem to have delighted in the erection of these artificial hills. The whole of Southern Russia is full of them, and we me^l with them in Hungary, Turkey, Scandinavia, and Den mark, as well as in England and Ireland, but nowhere in such numbers as in Ireland, whence we may conclude that the ancient Irish must have built many of their raths long before the Danes arrived among them. It is alsp probable' that they were erected with different objects in view. Some, we know, were interided as boundary marks, and some we know were raised over the remains of distinguished heroes and chiefs. From some it was customa ry for the lawgivers and judges to announce their decisions to the assembled multitude, and on others kings were anointed and crowned.. The Druids required sacred hills to offer their sacri fices on, and where a natural hill was not to be had, an artificial one, no doubt, was often form ed. Others again may have been intended as fortresses on which the people might seek refuge from an enemy. Many, no doubt, remain that are quite enigmatical. Several, when opened, are found to contain passages and cells, of which it is difficult to guess what use they were intend ed for. _ They are too small for storehouses, and can scarcely have served as tombs, or bones and other rernaihs would have been found there. , Lisserdowling, a high pyramid surrounded by a low rampart and ditch, is more likely, in my opinion, to have been erected as a religious mon ument than as a fortress. Had it been intended for a fortress, why should so much labour have been expended in giving it a conical form, and why not have bestowed more pains on the cir- cumvallation f As a fortress it would have been the strangest and most ineligible that could have been built. The space on the summit would scarcely afford room for two huts, and when the rampart had once been stormed by the enemy, the defenders would have been at the greatest disadvantage on the sides of the cone. Proba bly the circumvallation has led to the belief that this, and many other tumuli, were intended for fortresses, but Stonehenge, which nobody ever took to be a fortress, is also surrounded by ram part and ditch. The circumvallation may have been intended simply to mark the boundary' of the holy place, and to cut off all connexion "with the profane part of the world. Enough, however, of the Danes' mounts, and now let me proceed to notice a few memoranda which I find set down in my journal during my stay in Edgeworthtown. In the little Protestant church at Edgeworth town 1 found a wooden gallery, which, as I learn ed from an inscription, had been erected sixty years previously, by a vicar of the parish, for the exclusive use of the public at large. The small space on the floor of the church was occupied wholly by the pews of the wealthier part of the congregation, so that the poor,, who could not afford to pay pew-rent, were all but excluded from the place of worship, as is generally the IRELAND. 11 case in the Protestant churches of England. The ¦pews are a source of revenue to the cjhuich, and this has caused them to encroach so much Upon Ihe space 'intended for the congregation, that no room at all remains in the end for the poor. Well-meaning clergyfnen have often struggled against this abuse of the pews; and some, like the worthy pastor of Edgeworthtown, when they could not bring the parish to provide accommo dation for the poor,, have done so at their own expense. The vicar in question, it is said, had ihe greatest difficulty in obtaining a vestry act to ¦enable him to carry his benevolent views into operation. Of late the Puseyites have commen ced a spirited opposition against the monopoli sing system of pews, and in this, at least, it is to be hoped, they will succeed. There are 800 Catholics in Edgeworthtown, and 300 Protestants, but the latter do not increase in number in an equal ratio with the former. The Catholics have become wealthier and mpre powerful since their emancipation, as well as more numerous, and this remark will apply to nearly all Ireland. I was also told that the Cath olics endeavour at present to induce young men him. Nothing offers so striking a contrast to, the meager, ragged wretchedness of the Irish peas ant than the creature with which he usually, Shares' his home — I mean his pig. You see the animal go where you will, and so well fed, so oily, so rourid, so paunchy, as yon will scarcely ever see it elsewhere. In no other country have I ever seen so many, pigs, except perhaps in. Walachi'a; but the ^Vyalachian pigs, feeding iij; the woods, are' a much wilder race than the iEi'sh; pigs, which are literally the inma'es of their' master's home, and are reafeji up with the pinler* members of his fatoilly. W, hat the horse is to' the Arab, or, the dog to the Greerilapder, the pig is to an Irishriian. He feeds it quite as" well as he does his children, assigns to it a corner in his sftfing-ropm, shares Ijis.pdtatoes, his milk, and his bread withi^ and all these favours, he con fidently expects^the pig will in due, time grate fully repay. Upon the pig if is that the hest, hopes of the poor peasant pft'eri repose. "The pig it is mustpay the rent," is a speech ypumay hear repeated hundreds of times. The high rept which he f " ' ' ' """' ' heaviest of the pig' is the, friend that mus i Of ]ate years, I was soirietime's told, that (he goat had been preferred, as easier to rear fh'an the pig, but in all those parts of the cburitry which I visited, the pig* was the predominant animal. In front of many of the farm-house? that I passed I saw hawthorn bushes cut irifofarltasiic shapes, jjyram ids, crosses, $<;.,, as J had often seen in England. By the roadside, also, they oc- injo »J.1 14 IRELAND, curred frequently, and some had stems of enor mous thickness, and appeared of a much greater age than we ever see them in Germany. There are parts of Ireland where nothing now remains but these old thorn-bushes, to testify to the mighty forests that once grew there. There are many countries in Europe where the forests that for merly existed there have completely vanished, in consequence of the unthrifty manner in which the inhabitants have dealt with their timber. No other country, however, has been so neglectful of this department of national economy as Ire land, and the inconvenience is 'now felt. By plantations of young trees, they are endeavour ing to repair their bygone errors. It is the same in Switzerland, in Greece, in Southern Rus sia, &.c. The larch appeared to me to be made an ob ject of particular care. -In every direction I saw young saplings of this beautiful and useful plant, but always in small parcels, and not in such ex tensive plantations as we often see in our own well-wooded country. The English require much wood for their ships, and have to pay a higher price for it than most of their commer cial rivals; when we think how there lie waste in Ireland many thousands of acres, well suited for the growth of oaks and pines, it is difficult to comprehend why more energetic exertions are not made to plant with timber the lands now left unoccupied and unused. Ballimahon was the second place at which I changed horses. It is a small town, but is known throughout the country for its great egg-fnarket, an article in which much business is aiso carri ed on at Lanesborough and other places in the county of Longford. In every direction I was continually seeing toe egg-buyers, with baskets on their backs, going about from hut to hut to make their purchases, which are afterwards brought to the several markets. The eggs are sent by the canal to Dublin, and thence shipped to England. Liverpool, and even Londop, are in a great measure supplied with eggs from Ire land. Passing along a number Of crossways and by ways, I arrived at Athlone. All the principal towns of Ireland, all those of first and second rank, lie along the coast, or, at all events, with in easy reach of the sea; in the inland parts of the island one sees none but towns of inferior importance. One of these is Athlone, which, on account of its central position, appears well sit uated to be the capital of the country. It is said, indeed, to have once been in contemplation to make it the seat of government; and it is even now the spot where the strongest military force is kept, ready to march upon any part of the' isl and wh»re disturbances may break out. The place is fortified, and has barracks for artillery, cavalry, and infantry. Leaving Athlone, we crossed a portion of the Bog of Allan, a bog, which, under various names, occupies a large part of the great plain which ruris from east to west, from Dublin to Galway, dividing the country into two sections, a mount ainous north and a mountainous south. The lower grounds are quite covered with the mo- ras's, which presents the appearance of a reddish monotonous level. The cultivated fields often come down close to the edge of the bog, as the flowery fields of Switzerland advance to Ihe ex treme margin, of the glaciers. Large quantities of turf are obtained from this bog, and sent down the Shannon to Limerick, or along the canals to Dublin ; for though in some wealthy houses itt the seacoast towns, coals are burned, yet the ma jority of the population everywhere burn nothing but turf, which may be obtained more easily from the surface of the ground than can the coals from their deep and laborious mines. When their supply of turf has been exhausted, the Irish will pay more attention to their coal-fields, the real extent of which is still unknown to them. Before that time comes some centuries must pass away, but there are parts of Ireland where turf is beginning to grow scarce. In the north of Germany, where we have also many turf bogs, the people provide for the reproduction of the turf. They leave, square holes, in which the water collects. The marsh-plants accumulate in those reservoirs, and at the end of thirty or forty years turf may again be cut from the, same place, and thus a piece of turf-land is made to afford an inexhaustible supply of fuel tp its own ers. In Ireland nothing of the kind is thought of. The turf is cut away wherever Nature has deposited the treasure, and none seems, to trouble himself about the renewal of the supply. The consequence is that many villages are mourning over their dwindling stock of turf,' and can al most calculate the day on which they will have consumed their last sod. A remarkable phenomenon connected with these bogs is the manner in which they develop themselves sometimes in their centre, and then overflow their banks in all directions. The sides of a bog, for instance, will often become dry and' hard, and form a rampart round the middle part^ which continues moist, and therefore continues to grow. The middle, naturally, soon rises (0 a higher level, and this elevation of the middle of the bog may be seen at a glance as you pass through the country. In general there are some brooks or rivulets, "which carry away the surplus water from these bogs, but not always, and when., this is not the case, as soon as the accumulated moisture has grown beyond a certain volume, it •breaks its way, and overflows fertile fields, bury ing houses, trees, and often men, in its progress. Accidents of this kind still occur in Ireland, and have probably done so from the remotest times, affording a ready means of accounting for the vast extent of country which the bogs have i'n time been able to cover. Many articles still found ih the bogs seem to bear testimony to the suddenness of some of these eruptions: trunks of trees, human skeletons, implements of husband ry, and the bones of animals no longer to be met with in Ireland; for instance, those of the. ellr^. The most remarkable substanc? found. in the bog is the bog-butter,' as' it is called, and which the common people believe to have been really but ter; though why butter should have been swal lowed up in such vast quantities it would be dif ficult to say. Shannon Harbour lies on the Shannon, at the mouth of the Grand Canal. This canal extends- to Dublin, and the Shannon being navigable hence to Limerick, Shannon Harbour forms an intermediate point of some importance for the in land navigation between those two cities. The commerce along this canal is not, however very considerable, and Shannon Harbour, whatever it may hereafter become, consists at present only of a good inn, with a row of warehouses and counting-houses along the canal, and a sort of appendix of cabins for the Irish labourers. In the warehouses 1 saw little except large quanti ties of Galway oysters, and as I found it impos- IRELAND. 15 sible to take a very lively interest in this descrip tion of merchandise, I turned from the present to the past, and examined some ruined castles, which were said to have once belonged, to an Irish hero of the name of Mac Oghlan, who pos sessed no less than six castles in the neighbour hood. One of these castles 1 had observed as we came along. It had all the appearance of an old feudal castle, was quite as ruinous as its age warranted, and was almost covered with ivy; nevertheless, the owner seemed to have made himself a Very comfortable dwelling among the ancient halls and the toppling rujns^ I have met many similar instances in Ireland of ruined castles, in which the owners contrived still to live very much at their ease. Another of the ruins lay about a mile and half from the place, and a young man accompanied me thither as guide. When we arrived it was getting dusk, and on niy preparing to jump over a ditch, that I might go close up to the castle, which lay in the middle of a large potato-field, my ytjuth hung back, and told me he would wait in the road'till I came back. I soon saw he was. afraid of the "good people," of \yhom the Irish are certainly far more in dread than they; are of the devil. I was curious to see how far my companion's fear went, and threatened to withhold the promised shilling unless he went with me. " On, I don't care about that!" he murmured to himself, and remained obstinately behind. I had to explore tbe ruin by myself, but it contained nothing very remarkable — nothing but a few loopholes, and a few vaults that had fallen in. Not far off lay a small house to which my at tention had been directed in Shannon Harbpur, as one the inmates of which would be able to give me some information respecting the tradi tions connected with the castle. Thither I di rected my steps, and, seeing a woman at the door, I called to her. She appeared for a mo ment to consider whether she should attend to my call, then, retiring as I advanced; cried out to know what I wanted. On my approaching nearer she started off across some fields, and ran toward a house at a distance from her own. Perhaps my arrival frorn the haunted ruin at such an hour had appeared something very aw ful to her, and my foreign accent may have com pleted the effect. My guide top, I found, had taken to his heels, and I did not see him again till my return to Shannon Habour, whither he had run as fast as his legs could carry him, to seek shelter by his mother's turf fire from all the fays and goblins in the world. His mother scolded him for a coward, but who knows wheth er she would have behaved more valiantly in his place. Wherever English civilization comes, the " good people" grow more and more scarce, so at least people told me, but my own experi ence scarcely bears out the assertion, for even in the most Anglified parts of Ireland I found my self surrounded by swarms of "good people," as soon as I ventured abroad in the dusk. Not far from Shannon Harbour, a little far ther up the river, are ruins of much greater in terest, known as the " Seven Churches." This is a spot fhat has been held sacred from the ear liest period of Irish, Christianity, The ruins of the churches lie near '^h'e beautiful banks, of the river, and among them.are scatlered the graves, it is said, of a number of the ancient Irish kings. I had occasion, afterwards, to see other places of similar sanctity, and shall return to the subject. In the same way that Shannon Harbour had its Mac Oghlan, almost every district in Ireland nad once its renowned king or chief, of whose achievements the people continue to speak with admiration to the present day, and whose legiti mate descendants a stranger is sure to meet with, if he make any stay in the country. Almost every Irishman of good family can trace his de scent from one of the kings of Ulster, Leinster,; Munster, or Cnnr aught, and many families are still looked upon by their friends as the genuine- representatives of the ancient sovereigns of the country. There are persons who, though their names' may not be ibund in the peerage, yet in certain circles are .ooked upon as nobler than the proudest peers in the land. The most ancient of these genuine lri3h families are the Milesian iamilies as they are called, who are supposed to- be able to "trace their genealogy to MiletiUs, the conqueror of Ireland, and the second son of Heremon, King of Spain, who " came over" to Ireland, some say 500, and others 1000 years, be fore the Christian era. Most of tbe Irish names having an O before them, as O'Connell, O'Don- nell, O'Sullivan, &e., pointed, I was told, to a Milesian origin. In general, historians reject as mere fables, all these Old traditions of Heremon,. Miletius, and of the Tuatha-de-danaans that liv-> , ed in Ireland before Miletius, and of the Firbolgs that occupied the country several thousand years before Christ. A few, with Thomas Moore, be lieve a portion of these oral chronicles, but the people at large place entire confidence in them,. and will, no doubt, long. Continue to do so. An Irishman has the history of Miletius, Heremon, the Phoenicians, the Spaniards, the Tuatha-de- danaans, and all the rest of them, as completely at his fingers' ends, as a German gymnasiast ha» the history of Caesar, Augustus, Tiberius, &c, Even granting then that there may not be a par ticle of truth in many of these old tales, the fact is still remarkable enough, that the Irish, like the Indians, should have built up for themselves a system of traditions, that spreads out its roots into the grayest antiquity. Nor is it less remarkable- that a whole people should still continue to amuse itself with imagined legends and invented names, and should tell of them with as much confidence as of the events of yesterday. If this be no his torical, it certainly is an ethnographical and- psychological phenomenon, and, to the best of my belief, nothing like it is to be met with in any other part of Europe. In Italy the people have no current legends about the empire of Janus, ot the domination of Saturn ; nor in Germany or Scandinavia shall we find any tales about Odin, or about our original immigration from the east,. unless we turn to the books of the learned. In France, also, Cassar effectually obliterated all the legends and tales of the Druids and of the original Celts, but the Saxons have not been able to dissipate the glory of Miletius and his con sorts, who hop ahout in all directions with their old stories, as freshly and merrily as if they were- gifted with perpetual infancy. Even among the Norman and Saxon names ihr Ireland, an old Celtic race often lies concealed;. some Irish families having found it convenient in periods of persecution to seek, a nominal shel ter against, their enemies. Thus the real name- of the wpll-kuown family of Fifzpatrick is " Mac Guillo Phat-ick." The memory of the ancient name, however, is always carefully preserved, and the people often prefer to call the- members. of these Saxonized apd Normanjzed families by their original Celtic appellations. 16 IRELAND. I fell in, that ;evening, in. Shannon Harbour, with a member of one of these ancient, Irish fam ilies, arid' as, notwithstanding their pride of an cestry, they are mostly friendly, sociable, and cbipmunlcative',,we spent the evening very agree ably together. The most interesting communi cation Of my new. friend consisted in the plan of an estate, which he said his family had possess ed for eighteen hundred , years, first as native princes, and afterwards, under an altered name, a"s: vassals of England. On | this territory, occu pying a. surface of forty .English square miles, Aere are rio' less than eighteen ruined castles arid two ruined towers', rhaking ohe ruin to every square mile'. If the same proportion hold good for the rest of the country, Ireland, with its thirty- tWo thousand square miles, must have sixteen thousand ancient ruins, arid for aught I know '.hjs number may riot, be much over the, rriark. My friend was front Connemara, the wild West ern mountainous district of Connaught. He spoke highly of (he hospitality of the gentry in those" parts, particularly of the O'Flahef tys, the descendants of the ancient sovereigns. People lived very "stylishly'* ther^,, my friend assured rh'e, gave splendid' dinner's and parties, arid were more " showy" than even in other parts of Ire- ' lapd. The melancholy' consequence, however, of this stylish and stiowy way of life is) that most -of the estates are heavijy mortgaged, ahd these mortgages, the unavoidable result of extrava gance, are usuallyenumerated among the causes of the decline of Irish agriculture. Connaught, particularly the mountainous part',, was long a favourite place of refuge for the Cel-' tic' Irish, when driven by the English , from the eastern districts. It has, therefore, like Wales, fetained a more completely national character, the' English' language being scarcely understood in the nibre remote regions. Leinster, on the jitKer hand, is almost' Anglicized, the Irish lan guage being spoken in only a few out-of-the-way vwriers. Nearly the" same may be sail! of Mun- s'tef, though scarcely ,tb the same' degree'. ,Of Ulster the greater part has received a Scottish irnpresSiOn, though Irish is still spoken here and there. Cotihaught! is, the only thoroughly Irish prflvitiee. Lefhster may, be said to be the .prov ince of light, Connaught the province of daritriess in Ireland; in the fo'rrrier is, the greatest cultiva- '.fori, arid the lOveiy landdf Wicklow; in thelaf- t*f, poverty, barbafis'ni,- superstition, arid" the tfilds of Cpnneriiara. Evett ih trifles there is a marked differehee"betweeij the inhabitants of the two provinces. Thus' in Leinster, as throughout England, people1 eat- the entrails of the sheet), but neyer those of the' hog';' ih Connaught it is i list the reverse. THE SHANNON AND THE FAIRIES OF IRELAND. Well hM the Irish speak 6? the " Roi/at Sbari- abh," for1 he1 iS the king Of all their rivers. A foreigner, when he tnih'&s1 of SOUie' of ouf large edhtfriental slrtafriS, itiay at first consider" the epithet somewhat of an exaggeration, blit let him g-b'dowri this glorrouS river and' its lakes, ahd' he will be at no loss to understand that royal rha; jesty, in the mattef of rivets, may be quite inde pendent of length Or exterit. The British islands certainly can boast of noseddnd stfeam, the beau ties of whose banks could for a moment' be com pared to those Of the Shaririori1. Af his' very birth he is broad arid mighty, for ,he starts on his pqurse strong with the tribute-of, a lake (LobgH' Allen)] arid traverses the rhiddle of Ireland, in '« 'direction from rtorth-east to south west. Thrice" again he widens out into a' lake: :first into the little Lough Boffin, theh ihto the' ;larger Lough Ree, and lastly, when he has got imore thah half way to. the ocean', into the yet longer Lough De>g. Below Limerick h'e opens irito a noble esttiary, and whet) af length he falls into the sea between Lobp1 Head and Kerry Head, the glorious river has completed" a course of two hundred and'fotirieen English or abbut forty-thred German miles. Thfe greater p'art of the Shan non riins through the central plaih which sep arates the; mountainous' north from the moont- a'ihous' spilth. A similar plain eiis'ts in Eng land between Hull arid' Bristol, and in Scotland between Edinburgh ahd Glasgow, and iti' each case the plant intervenes1 between larger districts of a decidedly nioriritainbtis1 character. Each of these' three piairis, rriofe'bVer, is; intersected by 'the principal cabals' of the' several cOdriiries, arid each has its pririeip'al' fiver, as trie Severn; the Ciyrle, ahd the Shannon'. As the Sharirioh wafers rio 'less thaii' thirteen of the fnirty-twO counties' Of Ireland, the impi'pve'- irient of the; navigation has lotig been One ot the leading p dblic questions in that country. Mote than one hundred years ago. it was believed that by an expenditure' of £60,000 or £80,000, it would be pbsslble-to fefriove the chief difficulties; which consisted Of a' riumbef of, rocks; and shoajs that encumbered its channel. Wheh the Earl of Strafford Was Lortf Lieutenant of Irelarid, he' proposed a plan, which, however, was riot car ried ihtb 'execution'. Several projects were after wards proposed, s'orhe' of which Were altogether; neglected, others' ohiy partially carried' out, but all of thefn. like almost every measure calcula ted' to be berieficiatto Ireland, originated in Eng land. The ihl/eritiori' bf stearil navigation has, however, had the chief effect iti at last bridging abbilt the impfbverhents; in rile Shannon, as'' it hriSt much ! i navigation of the river and though' the Works are riot yet COmrjlete. twelve Steamboats are" al ready in full activity On the Shannon', wtiere'fif- teetf yeafs ago there w'as' only brie. As there are rio' railroads iti Ireland. 'wW die" exception of two rititiiktufe' One's; of whose far ther exteHt/on there' appears to be no1 ihWdi'afe' pfbsbeet, the1 can'afs' Which, ffave'rse' the' cduritfv Holland, ate dfa#h" by horses thaH move afofig1 at a ixhirt (M. td a sfratiger, de's'frous of study ing the Ifisi' berijile, this fnariner of rraveliing is much to bfe' fecomrlHended'. It was ori a , beSutiftrl day thif I eriibafked t'O' descend the Shahria,ri. Flowirig otn) 6f a lake and forming several Other laltes in its' progress' the water is extreme^ clear and beautiful movement is in general equable, exceiitirfg a few rapids Which aVe avoided, by mSaris of canals. The banks, fob, are pleasing to the eVe; Large gfeeti meddows stretch along the s'ideS of the riv er, ahd villages alferriate With handsome country- seats, sur rounded by their barks. Herons aiSbunS along the margin, and many of these beautiful birds were Continually Wheeling over lis in the air, their plumage glittering again iri the raVs ot the sun. IRELAND. 17 The most remarkable part of our cargo con sisted in a consignment of oxen and cows from Hamburg, that had found their way into Ireland in virtue of Sir Robert Peel's new tariff. The people were not a little alarmed, for they had always been accustomed to supply their friends With beasts of this description, andihot to import them for their own use. The foreign ruminators were evidently a source of great anxiety to the native passengers in the steamboat. " Our ¦woollen manufactures," said one Irishman to me, "that used to flourish in Kilkenny, Dublin, and other places, have been destroyed by the; English; our linen manufactures at Belfast and •Drogheda are threatened; no branch of manu factures can rise among us, on account of the immense privileges enjoyed by English industry. If our farmers and graziers are now to be ruined too, what is to become of usl" Some connoisseurs, 1 observed, stood about the Hamburghers, and shook their heads, de claring that if no better specimens were brought over, the Irish breed had nothing to fear, let the "tariff be ever so low. The animals were de clared to be very coarse, though strong for work ing. We in Germany have been so long accus tomed to look on the roast beef of Hamburg as, a national delicacy, that I could not bring my self to coincide in the judgment of my felloW- travellers. Our party on the steamer resolved itself into two divisions— one genteel and silent on the quarter-deck, the other talkative and unreserved in the front of the vessel. After I had made a few vain attempts to break the ice among the ¦former, I left them to themselves, and mingled with the less artificial part of the company, among whom I was soon engaged in a variety ¦of conversations, from Which I derived much in teresting information. A native of the kingdom of Kerry extended his patronage to me from the first. These Kerrymen enjoy the reputation ¦throughout Ireland of great scholarship. " Even 4he farmers' sons and labourers know Latin there,'' is a common saying. My companion was at all events deeply versed in the fairy legends! of his country, and related to me a multitude of | them, though many, owing to his peculiar dia lect, were almost unintelligible to me. Among the old ruins at Shannon Harbour I had wit nessed the dread of the Irish, after dusk, at the thought of supernatural spirits ; I had now, on the bosom of the beautiful Shannon, an opportu nity of seeing, with what zeal they can talk of the invisible world on a fine sunshiny day. 1 am guilty of no exaggeration when I say, that they crowded their heads together as eagerly around the narrator, as so many merchants would have done on 'Change, if engaged in the settle ment of some important transaction. In general, their fairies and spirits are known under the comprehensive title of the "good peo ple ;" but they have distinct classes, and of these are the Leprahauns and Lecbrigauns. The Lep- rahauns, a kind of spirit not of very frequent oc currence, are of earthly habits, and will sometimes show vast treasures to those who have the cour age to follow them. The great point is for a man riot to lose sight of a Leprahaun, but to keep him constantly in view. If you look aside for a moment the spirit is sure to be gone, and you are left alone among bogs and wildernesses to find your way out if you can. Pew men are firm enough to win the day against a Leprahaun, whose great delight is to plague and torment his B baffled followers ; but he who is bold and firm enough to keep the spirit steadily in view, ac quires at last a complete power over him, and may do what he will with him, and may make his fortune for life. There seemed to me to be a beautiful allegory.concealed under this fairy tale. The power of the human mind, exercised with perseverance and consistency, triumphs over all obstacles, and reduces even spirits to its will ; the weak and undetermined; on the other hand, are plagued and domineered over by the very same imps whom the resolute can direct and control. Poor Paddy, 1 fear, though he in vented the legend, is much oftener mocked than obeyed by his spirits. We have our ghosts and goblins too in Ger many, but in general they have been seen only by that very indefinite personage "somebody;'' and it would be difficult to find among us any one who boasted of ocular acquaintance with the mysterious fraternity. Not so in Ireland. "Oh, your honour don't believe our fairy stories," said one of my companions, who had observed me shaking my head as he was telling one of his marvellous tales; "yet I'll lay a wager there's many a man now abroad to whom the strangest things have happened, and which we must believe because they are plain, simple, indisputable facts, Now there's Tom O'Sullivan, your honour, there he stands, and Tom's one our best bagpipe play ers in Kerry. Well, till after he was thirty, Tom had never handled a,bag of pipes in his life. It bajpenedj'however, one day, that Tom was wandering among the hills, and lay down to sleep in a place that belonged to the 'good people,' and there are many such places in our country. Now, when he was asleep the fairies appeared to him, and played him a power of the most beautiiul tunes Upon the bagpipes, and then laid the brgpipes down by the side of him. Well, when Tom awoke he felt about in the grass, and soon found the pipes, and When he took them up he was able to play off-hand and quite pat every one of the tunes that the fairies had taught him. Now that's a fact, your hon our." " Is it so, Tom 1" said I. " Indeed it is, your honour, and very pretty people they were that taught me. And though. it's now thirty years since they gave me the pipes, I have them still, and they play as beau tifully now as the first day." " There now, that's a fact, your honour." Hereupon Tom went on and told me of a yet more marvellous adventure of a friend of his, one Phin McShane, who had fought in a great battle on the side of the Kerry fairies against the Limerick fairies, and his bravery had helped the former to gain a victory, whereupon they gave him a cap, that, when he wore it, made him as strong as any other seven men. "And Phin has the cap still, and when he puts it on, there's not a man in the barony will affront him. Now that's another fact, your honour, and when you come to Kerry I'll show you my pipes, and my friend Phin shall show you his cap." "I see, sir, you don't believe 'em," cried a woman here, "and yet it's a wonder you don't. Well, I've seen the good people with my own eyes dancing on their grounds, and my own ears have heard them play the most beautiful music. It's only a few days ago that my husband and I were coming from Galway,through the county of Roscommon, over the bog of Ballinasloe. We were both tired and lay down to sleep by the 18 IRELAND. side of a ^vell. My husband fell asleep, but I didn't, and soon I heard the most beautiful music ; 1 thought there might have been a piper near at hand, and stood up to look about me, but as I saw nothing I waked my husband, and bid him listen. 'Let's go on,' says he, 'h's the good people that's playing ;' and so he pulled nie away, and by the same token I left a new handkerchief behind me that I had bought in Galway, and had pulled out to look at by the well .side.' ... " Now that again is a fact," observed my Kerry friend very learnedly. The English have compiled a numberDf " Books of Facts" for their children, but here are facts which they have probably not yet thought of collecting. Of all nations of the earth the Irish are proba bly the strongest in their belief in the tricks and antics of these tiny slaves. There are stories in general circulation infinitely more marvellous than those I-have here related, but I preferred to tell those which the people declared had occurred to themselves, and being much more character istic of the country than legends which have probably received poetical embellishments in passing through the hands of their several nar rators. . It is quite characteristic of the' Irish that their fairies should be divided, like the island itself, into counties. You hear of the Limerick fairies, ahd the Donegal fairies, and the Tipperary fai ries, and the fairies of two adjoining counties have their faction fights, just like the inhabitants themselves. In Tipperary, however, is a place in which all the fairies in Ireland are said to hold their meetings. Another peculiarity of the Irish fairies is that they are quite as desirous to get mortals into their service, as mortals are to ob tain control of them. "They have always one or other of them in their service," said my Kerry friend, " and they are always particularly anxious to get hold of little children. When a fairy has set her heart upon a child it falls sick and dies, and then the fairies fetch it away, and breed it up, and it comes, perhaps, to ie one of the mightiest among them. Troth it's the red-haired children the fairies are fondest of, and it's they that run the greatest risk." Now all this sounds very poetically, but it would be happy for Paddy, for all that, jf English civilization could but drive his fairies out of his head. He might then be less disposed to ascribe his misfortunes to supernatural causes,. and look for wealth and independence not, like Goethe's money-digger, to elves and goblins, but to his own care and industry. - How often have I Wished that to some of my superstitious Irish friends I could have translated Goethe's excel lent lines : Komra mit angstliclier Beschwiirong Nicht zuriick an diesen Ort. Grabe hier nicht mehr vergebens. 1 Tages Arbeit, Abend's Ga.ste, Saure Wocher,, frohe Peste, J3ei dein kiinftig Zauberwort.* Passing from the fairies my born and bred Kerfyman came to speak of Father Mathew and the great temperance question. "Oh, he's a blessed man, and the Almighty, ' Frum magic spells and charms refrain, Come not near triis spnt again. For treasure grope no more below. Days of busy labour, , Evening sports and plays, Weeks of care and trouble, Merry holydays, Be thy only necromancy aow. glory be to his name, gave him the power that- shines from him." " You mean," said I, " the power of eloquence and persuasion, and of the excellent example he offers ip his own life." "Oh no, not at all, that's not what I mean. But when a man has takgn the pledge and re ceived his blessing, there's a particular grace in it. There's something in it, sir, that you can't so easily understand, a grace, a power, that no body comprehends who. has not himself experi enced it. The true and effectual pledge is not to be taken from the hands of any other, man- Take the pledge of another priest, and it has not the same binding power." , " That's true enough, your honour," interrupt-- ed another, " for doesn't he cure the most con firmed drunkards 1 Nay, it's them he makes most welcome, and when they have taken the pledge, it's they that make the very best temper ance men. .And doesn't he heal the lame and the blind 1 Oh, we could tell you a hundred facts of that, how he has healed them even against his own will, for Father Mathew's too modest to own to the power that's in him, but we know well that he has it for all that." Amid conversations like these we passed the little town of Banagher. It is fortified, and thus presents a spectacle pf rare occurrence in "the British islands, though less rare in Ireland than. in England and Scotland. Then gliding along by Redwood castle and the beautiful meadows of Pprtumna, we left the town of Portumna to. our right, and entered the waters of Lough Dergj. The steamer in which we had hitherto travelled was of small dimensions, with a wheel under the stern, to allow of its passing through some canals of no great breadth; but on the broad lake a new and larger vessel prepared to receive us. The two steamers came ciose to one another, to exi- change their respective passengers, , and their manoeuvre, as they swept round on the wide water, pleased me much. Of the lakes that like so many rich pearls are- strung upon the silver thread of the Shannon, Lough Ree and Lough Bodarrig, lying in a level country, and in a great measure surrounded by bogs, present little that is pleasing to the eye. Lough Allen is situated almost wholly within. the mountainous districts of the north,, and a large portion of Lough Derg is made picturesque by the mountains of the south. Like all Irish lakes, Lough Derg contains a number of small green islands, of which the most renowned is Inniseallra, an ancient holy place, containing; the ruins of seven venerable churches of great antiquity, and the remains of one of those re markable columnal erections known ih Ireland ueder the name of " round towers." We passed the sacred isle at the distance of a mile and a half, but we could- very distinctly make out all its monuments by the aid of a telescope. Among the Irish a dispute arose whether "St. Patrick's purgatory" was to besought for here, or on an isl and in one of the upper lakes. A similar tradi tion may have attached itself to several islands, but St. Patrick's purgatory, as known at one time to half the Christian world, and still to the whole learned world of Ireland, was undoubtedly situated in Inniscaltra. The Irish tradition was that St. Patrick had prevailed on God to place the entrance to purgatory in Ireland, that the un believers might the. more readily be convinced of the' immortality of the soul, and of the suffer ings that awaited, the wicked after death. A / IRELAND. 19 lew monks, according to Boate, an old Irish writer, dwelt near the cavern that represented this entrance. Whoever came to the island with the intention of descending into the cavern, and examining its wonders, had to prepare himself by long vigils, fasts, and prayers, to strengthen him, as he was told, (Or his dangerous expedi tion ; but in reality, by reducing his bodily strength, to make his imagination more ready to receive the impressions which it was thought desirable to leave upon his mind. He was then let down into the cavern, whence, after an inter val of several hours, he was drawn up again half dead, and when he recovered his senses, mingling the wild dreams of his own imagina tion with what the monks told him, he seldom failed to tell the most marvellous tales of the place for the remainder of his life. It was not till in the reign of James II. that the monks were driven away from the place, and the mystery of the dark cavern dissolved. This legend again appears to me to be remarkably characteristic of the Irish. I believe they are the only Christian people who have found out an entrance to pur gatory at all, and when they did so, it argued no little courage to place it ih the centre of their •wn island, at the same time that it argued an admirable childlike laith, to have so long con tinued the dupes of a few designing monks. The Greeks also had an entrance to the internal regions, and some of their heroes were curious enough to explore it ; but Homer places it at a distance from Greece, and it was only after many Wanderings that Ulysses was able to discover it. The southern end of Lough Derg narrows as you proceed, tapering -at last almost to a point, and at this point lies the little town of Killaloe. This southern end is, however, by far the most beautiful part of the whole lough. The mount ains of Slievh Bernagh, Knockermaun, 6lc., that lie close to the lake, are green, Wooded, and in habited. Farther away to the right the Inchi- quin mountains, and to the left the Keeper, lower to a height of upwards of 2000 feet. In one of these mountains may be noticed a re markable indentation called the Devil's Bite, which the Irish have not been able to account for in any other way than by supposing the devil to have once conceived the whimsical notion of biting a bit out of the mountain ; taking it, I sup pose, for the back of a plump Irish pig. The titbit, however, seemed not to have pleased him, for he spat it out again, and I was told that somewhere in Ireland, I forget where, I might find a fragment of rock that exactly fitted into the place bitten into by the devil. Lough Derg, the sailors told me, was six or seven feet higher in winter than in summer; an immense increase of volume for a piece of wa ter of such extent. It rarely freezes in winter; though in the same latitude as the Prussian Hajfs, that are covered with ice almost every year. In general, Lough Derg has no ice at all in winter, not even on its margin; but in very severe winters, it was mentioned as something nu usual, ice four inches thick would form on the sides. Once, about forty years ago, the whole lake had been so completely frozen over, that a car had been driven across. Beyond Killaloe we come again to rocks and whirlpools,; and as the canal' was Pot yet finish ed, by means of which this part of the river is to be avoided, we had the amusement of landing •with bag and baggage, and proceeding with jaunting cars to the spot where it was possible to embark for Limerick. The captain of the steamer and his mates shipped themselves on the backs of some cantering nags, and, thus ca parisoned, rattled away in front as commanders and escort to the caravan. At the end of a few miles we embarked again, but this time in a long eanal>boat drawn by a couple of horses. AU this sounds rather wild and Irish; in England such a variegated mode of transport is scarcely to be found. Our new boat was separated into two divis ions; in the hindmost, the get]te#er passengers sat, in two rows, very devoutly opposite to each other, and in seats not unlike church pews. In what might be called the steerage, my Temper ance friends from Kerry and Tipperary were chatting and smoking away on long benches, with more comfort apparently, and certainly with much less constraint. 1 soon overcame any repugnance which I might otherwise have felt on account of the less scrupulous cleanli ness of this part of the vessel, and determined to visit it, to prosecute my studies of Irish char acter. Some pages back I made mention of the repu tation of the Kerry men for learning, and found here a remarkable instance of it. I saw a man reading an old manuscript in the ancient Celtic character in which the Irish is still written. The manuscript consisted of a multitude of sheets stitched together, and the several parts, to judge from the appearance of the paper, must ' have been written at very different times. It was brown with age, but had evidently been pre served with great care. A part, the man told me, he had added himself, the rest of it he had inherited from his father and grandfather; but some of it, he believed, had been in the family long before their time. I inquired about the contents. They were the most beautiful, he said, of the old Irish poems, some histories of remarkable events, and some treatises of ancient authors. Among others, there was a translation of a work by Aristotle on natural history. On inquiry, I found there was another man on board, a native of Clare, who had a manuscript of a similar character with him. I asked the reason why they carried these relics with them on a journey. They said they did not like to lose sight of them, and then there were times when they might read a bit in them. In the se quel I found many manuscripts of the kind in the hands of the common people in Ireland. I was told there were some on parphment of ex treme age, but I never saw any myself except on paper. We issued once more from our narrow canal upon the broad, beautiful Shannon, and landed on the quay at Limerick late in the evening. LIMERICK AND THE IRISH SATTJR. DAYS. Limerick is the third city in Ireland, with a population of 75,000. Dublin, the first, contains 270,000, and Cork, the second, 110,000 inhab itants. _ The trade of Limerick, like that of most Irish cities, has increased in an astonishing decree. The exports have trebled since 1820, and in 1841 the customs alone produced £246,000, or about 1,700,000 Prussian dollars. The inhabitants are, in consequence, full of hope that their port, hitherto a third class one, may soon be raised to the second class. In the new parts of the town, the effects of this 30 IRELAND. improving, commerce are plain enough to be seen ; the streets are broad and imposing, and the houses large and well built. St. George- street may vie with Sackville-street in Dublin. St. George is an English saint, and the whole of this new quarter is called the English town. Galway and many other Irish cities are divided, in the same way, into an English and Irish town. Tbe Irish town is generally full of dirt, disorder, and decay; the English quarter, on the other hand,"reminds one of the better parts of London. The inhabitants of the two quarters live in a sort of constant opposition to one another. In this way every large city in Ireland has been adorned by the English with a cleanly and com fortable quarter, and the Irish have returned the favour by hanging on to most of the large Eng lish cities, a dirty and disorderly quarter of He lots. In Manchester there are said to be 60,000 Irish, in Glasgow 50,000, in Liverpool 40,000, in Birmingham 25,000, in Leeds 12,000, and in London more than 100,000. In almost every large English town you find a quarter that re minds you of St. Giles's in London. The Eng lish complain much, and with good reason, of the habits of the Irish. The Irish have also many well-founded complaints to make of the English ; but when the Irish sum up their griev ances, they ought also tp remember the advan tages for which they stand indebted to the English. It is the English that improve the navigation of the Shannon, urge the draining of the bogs, and gradually drive the Irish elves and fairies into the sea; it is the English who enrich the Irish towns with clean, comfortable, and civilized quarters; it is the English who constitute the soul and pith of the British power, and it is to them that the Irish owe it, if they are able to participate in the wide-spread commerce of Great Britain, and to share in all the opportuni ties and advantages that stand open to a British subject. The vigorous, speculative, and perseT vering Anglo-Saxons force the indolent and un- energetic Celts along with them on the road of glory and national greatness ; they pull them for ward, somewhat rudely perhaps, but they do pull them forward. Nothing, however, is to be found in Limerick more beautiful than the "Limerick lasses," who are as much celebrated in Ireland as the " Lan cashire witches" are in England. Both places lie in the west, and in the more Celtic west of the two islands. This may afford matter of cu rious speculation, but who will fathom the mys teries that hang over the formation of beautiful women 1 ' It was arm-in-arm with a descendant from a royal race, a Mr. O'Rourke, that I sallied forth to see the town. An O'Rourke was among the princes that assisted the English in the first con quest of Ireland, but turning afterwards against the invaders, he was killed by them. The fam ily subsequently fell into decay, and there are now but tew left to bear the name, ft was on a Saturday evening, and the pawnbrokers' shops were full of bustle. The poor people were re deeming their Sunday clothes, that they might look gay on the morrow. They had just receiv ed their weekly wages, of which a part was go ing to the pawnbroker, and the rest would prob ably be expended before Sunday evening. On Monday their bit of finery would have to wan der back to the money-lender, and the remainder of the week would be spent in rags and priva tion. Thousands of the poor Irish live thus, and an expensive way of living it must be, see' ing that so many pawnbrokers and pawnbrokers assistants are maintained almost exclusively out of the earnings of the poor. A Saturday in an Irish town, and indeed in every town of the United Kingdom, is a day of great life and bustle among the humbler Classes. The silent joyless Sunday is at hand, the la bour of the week is pver, money is plentiful, and the consequence is that half the population may always be seen, on a Saturday evening, moving about till midnight, gossiping, jesting, buying, carousing. The shops remain open till mid night, and, as nothing is to be had on the follow ing day, the poor must make their purchases on the Saturday, if they would provide a better din ner for Sunday than for ordinary days. Satur day eveningis thus the most important part of the week to the small dealers, particularly to those who traffic in the various kinds of proviso ions. The beggars, (too, make their harvest on a Saturday evening, as one of them acknowledged when examined by a magistrate in Dublin. It is the poor who are, in general, most liberal to the mendicants, and it is on the Saturday that the poor man can most easily bestow his gifts. When first I came into an English town on a Saturday evening, I thought an insurrection must just have broken out, or must at least.be. on the point of doing so. The streets were crowded with busy and eager multitudes, all of the humbler classes, and one might suppose that if a spark had but fallen among these masses they would instantly have burst into a flame. Yet there were sparks enough, ay and inflam matory torches, burning harmlessly around. That very evening, for instance, at every corner, and under every lamp of Limerick, was posted up a proclamation, ;issued by the friends of O'Connell, Calling upon the Irish nation, in Ihe name of the great agitator, to repair to a meeting that was to be held in a few days, and at which he was to harangue the people. Over the proc lamation was printed in large letters: "repeal! repeal! repeal! " Up, citizens of Limerick and Irishmen all ! Up and bestir yourselves for a separation from England! Up for your native right of a sepa-' rate, parliament ! The immortal (sic!) O'Con nell will appear among you. He calls upon you. He needs your aid ip Erin's cause. Be firm and united, and cease riot, like himself, to watch unceasingly over the welfare of your country, and to be ever active in our great, com mon, patriotic struggle." This document then went on, in yet stronger language, to call upon the.people to assemble in great numbers on the appointed day, to lay in a warm stock of patriotism, and above all not to be backward in their pecuniary contributions. Limerick has many fine buildings and publie institutions, but all of modern erection, and just like what a traveller may see in other towns in Ireland and England. In Galway, however, the metropolis of the wild west, and an Hesperian colony, he will find a more quaint and peculiar city, with antiquities such as he will mept with nowhere else. The old town is throughout of Spanish architecture, with wide gateways, broad stairs, arched passages, and all the fantastic or naments calculated to carry the imagination back to Granada and Valencia. Then the town, with its monks, churches, and convents, has a IRELAND. 21 more completely catholic air, and the population of the adjoining country have preserved some thing of their picturesque national costume. I am sorry 1 was not able to visit the place, and salisly myself of tbe truth of all the marvels told me respecting it ; and it was also with much re gret lhat I forbore from visiting a German colo-x ny, that settled in the county of Limerick about the beginning of the last century. The settlers were from the Palatinate, and their descendants are still tailed Palatinates, though they have lost the language of their fathers. They have not, however, lost the German character for good order and honourable dealing, and are luuued on as the best farmers in the country. "They are most respectable people," said an Irish lady to me, " and much wealthier and far better off than any of their Irish neighbours." It is a constant subject of discussion in Ire land, between the Irish patriots and the adhe rents of the English, that is between the Celto- manes and the Anglomanes, whether the misery and poverty of Ireland ought to be attributed to the tyranny and bad government of the English, or whether the indolence and want of energy of the Irish themselves be not in a great measure to blame. Now the prosperity of this German colony, though subject to the same laws and in fluences as the1 native Irish, would seem not to decide the question in favour of the friends of the Celts. Upon the whole, however, there are not many Germans in Ireland, not even in Dub lin. They were probably never more numerous there than during the rebellion in 1798, when several regiments of Hanoverians were employ ed in the country, and their presence in such a form may not have left a very favourable im pression respecting them on the public mind. FROM LIMERICK TO EDENVALE. In company with an Irishman, who joined me in the hire of a car, I started on the following day, a fine Sunday morning, to pay a visit to a friend of mine, a landholder in the neighbour hood of Ennis, the capital of the county of Clare. The road lay at first along the Shannon, and then over a plain, said to be of the most fertile soil in Ireland. The appearance of the country was beautiful, and wherever the ground was slightly elevated, a fine view was obtained of the surrounding landscape, including the beautiful Shannon and its numerous islands. By the side of the river, and partly surrounded by it, lay' the rock Carrigogunal, celebrated for its fairies, who take delight in surprising a mortal upon the rock, and making him partake of their hospitality. We passed close by the ivy-mantled ruins of Bunratty Castle, whence whole swarms of ra vens issued at our approach, and a little farther on we came to the celebrated Gluin Abbey. " In short," said my travelling companion, "you see we have no lack of ruins in Ireland. The coun try was divided among a number of chiefs, who dwelt in these castles, and made war on each other. In a word, it was in those days here just as it is in your country at the present tim,e. Murder and homicide were the order of the day even more than they are now, and the life of a nobleman was valued at forty shillings, and that of a peasant at six. That too is an old German law, I fancy. But you've no Milesian families in Germany; no, there's no people can boast of that but the Irish. And indeed it's something very particular to be a member of s\lch a family. E Such a one may go forty days without food; at least that's the received opinion among the peo ple of Ireland. Faith, if you look yonder you may see a woman who, though of no royal .ace, would fast more than forty days for you any day ou like. I say" (turning to the driver), " that's orisheen, isn't in" " Oh, sure enough, who else should it be but Norisheen 1" " Now, that Norisheen," resumed my com panion, "is a legislator. We might consult her about the interests of the country. Indeed she knows more than most legislators, for she's as familiar with the future as the past." I looked and saw an old woman attired in rags, and clinging to a wall by the side of a ru inous hut. She was repairing her mound of turf, for it is usual among the Irish to pile up their turf round their cabins, in the form of high. and thick walls, thus making the turf warm them twice, first by keeping off the wind, and secondly by mouldering to ashes on the hearth. My companion and the driver hailed the old woman as we passed, and "she returned the sa lute, Clinging with one arm to the wall, and Wa ving the other in the air, in token of recognition. " Therefs a learned woman for you, sir," cried the driver. " It's she that knows the history of every family in Ireland, and all that happened in the country long before the birth of Christ. Aye, and she'll prophesy 'the future for you as easily as the past, for she knows every creature for many miles round, and there's little goes on even at Carrigogunal' that she han't an inkling of." Then half in earnest, half in jest, my compan ions told me so many marvels of Norisheen, that I was sorry I had not made her acquaint ance. I asked whether O'Connell and the old woman were known to each other. It was like ly enough, they thought, that O'Connell might have heard of her, but it was certain that she knew him, for she had prophesied fifty years ago that such an O'Connell would come; 'and now, though perhaps she contributed nothing to the tribute, she was one of his warmest partisans.. It is of no little importance to O'Connell to have the witches of Ireland on his side, and there are many old crones like Norisheen in the font provinces. I was grieved as I passed on the Sunday through several towns to see so many poor fel lows loitering about, and on the look out for work. They were most of them in their Sun* day attire, but with 'their spades in their hands, and stood grouped about the churches and mar ket-places waiting to be hired to dig potatoes. I was shocked at the sight of such sad and serious multitudes, and all lihemployed. Clare is a poor and ruinous place, that re minded me of the Polish and Lithuanian cities. Though it bears the name of the county, it is not the chief town, that honour being enjoyed by Ennis, a much more orderly and prosperous- looking place, and celebrated in the history of Ireland, on account of the extraordinary excite ment that accompanied the election of O'Con nell for the county of Clare, in 1823--an elec tion that immediately preceded, and in a great measure contributed to bring about, Catholic Emancipation. Clare is also famed as the native county of the great Irish family of the O'Briens, of whom representatives are, indeed, scattered over every part of Ireland, but in. Clare it is that they do 22 IRELAND. most abound. Here stands Drummolent Castle, the seat of one of the wealthiest of the clan, and here also stood once Kincora Castle, the resi dence of the most celebrated of all the O'Briens, the great king Brian-Boru, the pride not only of his race, but of his country. He is said, to have defeated the Danes in fifty battles, and his fame still lives fresh and green in the poems and le gends of the people. Many O'Briens after him were kings of Munster; at present they are con tent to be members of Parliament. In every county in Ireland you find some family of pre dominant weight, and whose name recurs in al most every town and village. I shall often have opportunities of speaking of such families. EDENVALE. This is one of the prettiest country-seats in the county of Clare, and I have every reason to congratulate myself on having accepted an invi tation to spend a few days with the owner, an influential protestant landholder. The Britons, including the Irish, certainly understand better than any other people the an of selecting an ap propriate site for a country-seat, and then con verting it into a kind of paradise. The French and Dutch allow too little of nature to remain in their gardens, and around our German country- seats we have somewhat too much of its wild- ness. The English know better how to combine nature and art in their domestic landscapes. The art of gardening may not be brought to such perfection in Ireland as in England, but the climate of Ireland is more favourable to vegeta tion, and where the Irish gardener does his best, pn Irish garden will often surpass in beauty even those of England. The main charm of English gardens consists in their profusion of. evergreens, and of these, Ireland, with its; milder climate, has a greater variety than England. In the north of France it is only here and there that an evergreen is to be met with, and fruitless at tempts have been made there to domesticate va rious kinds that are quite common in England and Ireland, among others the holly. In Ireland the arbutus grows wild, besides other evergreens that will not bear the climate of England. Even in the extreme north of Ireland most of these plants thrive, and that in the same degree of lat itude in which, in Poland and Lithuania, the fir- tree is the only evergreen known in the country. On my arrival, I found my worthy host busy with his trees and flowers, and we immediately undertook a little tour round the lovely glen on the margin of which his house is situated. One of the most remarkable spectacles that presented itself during my visit, was a complete eclipse of the sun, caused by an immense flight of rooks, Never in my life had I seen so many birds col lected together. It was as if all the feathered tenants of the hundred thousand ruined castles, abbeys, and towers of Ireland had assembled to hold a monster meeting. The silent glen was at once filled by their loud and discordant cries, and their droppings poured down like a shower of hail; and yet the inhabitants of Edenvale as sured me the spectacle was no uncommon one, the rooks having long made the glen one of their favourite haunts. It was at least an hour before the wild concert was at an end, and the air clear of the ungainly vocalists, and when the swarm had passed, I felt as if a thunderstorm had rolled away. These rooks, as the English call them, may be seen in countless numbers about old church yards and antique mansions, and even in Lon don there are '.' rookeries." The English shoot these rooks, and rook-shooting is included in the list of rural sports. Rook-pies are even reckoned among the delicacies of an English table, but. the dainty morse) is one that no for eigner need regrit his ignorance of; and here the Irish are of my mind — for often, after point ing at a flight of rooks, they would tell me with a mingled feeling of contemptxand disgust, "the English soldiers here shoot them and make pies of them." In England, where servants are kept at a proper distance, it is seldom that they venture on the familiar impertinence of which I saw fre quent instances in Ireland. My worthy friend's coachman, a well-fed, merry-looking fellow, ac companied us through the stables and farm buildings, and ppinted out every remarkable ob ject to my attention, with a constant flow of elo quence, while his master followed modestly be hind us. " This stable, you see, sir," proceeded the coachman, " we finished last year. And a deal pf trouble it cost us, for we had to begin by blowing away the whole of the rock there. But we shall have a beautiful prospect for our pains when the trees yonder have been cut down. And look down there, your honour, all them is his dominions (pointing to his master), and in two months he'll have finished, the new building he has begun." Now no English servant would have made equally free with his master, and yet the Irish servants are taken from a far more de pendant class than the English peasants. At Edenvale I heard of another old woman to whom popular belief ascribed supernatural powers. Her name was Consideen, and I met with her in a neighbouring cabin, into which I entered in the course of oue of my excursions. Leaning on a stick, the old octogenarian prophet ess sat by the turf fire of her friend. She told . me she had often seen Death, leaning on two crutches, and standing at the end of the meadow, when any of her family was about to die. Old as she was, she said, she knew she should not die yet awhile, for Death would be sure to come and give her warning when her time drew near. Almost every old woman among the Irish peasantry has her visions, and believes in them firmly. "Oh, your honour," said my compan ion-, who had shown me to the hut, " if you could but hear those two old women talk together, you'd be astonished at the hundreds of beautiful histories they know how to tell. But you're strange to them, and that makes them backward in their speaking." I had heard of a place in the neighbourhood that was looked on as a gathering ground of the fairies, and prevailed on some of the people to show me the way there. On the summit of a rocky hill we found a piece of greensward about two hundred paces in circumference. This, I was told, was the spot sacred to the good people. "And have you ever seen the fairies with your own eyes?' asked I. " Whole swarms of them, your honour, and many a time too," they an swered in chorus. "For my part," obferved one, "I have always taken tolerable care to avoid them, but once they played me an ugly trick for all that. They led me into an out-of- the-way place; where I lost myself, and slum- bled over a thing that looked like the root of an old tree, and by the same token I broke my lit- IRELAND. £3 stie'flnger there." " Then why do you call them good people if they do you so much mischief? I should rather call them wicked people." " May be, your honour, 1 had given them some offence unknown to myself. And may be it was kind of them to let me off with a broken finger. I wouldn't call them what your honour calls them for a great deal. I shouldn't like to vex them .so." During that same walk I visited the stately mansions of some of my host's neighbours. These houses looked to me much more suited for spectral visitation than the fairy meadow I had just left. Scarcely a soul dwelt m them, and the rooms were silent like so many graves. The owners were absentees, who spent their Irish revenues in Englanu or on the continent. These spectral palaces, I am sorry to say, are almost as abundant iu Ireland, as fairy grounds and ruined castles. The rich Protestant land owners feel themselves uncomfortable on many accounts among their Catholic tenants. The wildness of the country is not easily remedied, the barbarism of the people leads them often to murderous acts of vengeance against their land lords; greater attractions are unquestionably to be found in English society; the peasantry are often divided into hostile factions, and perhaps many a Protestant may not be insensible to the injustice of which the wealthier class are guilty towards their poorer countrymen. All these causes, combining to keep so many wealthy Irish proprietors out of their country, may have given rise to the universally lamented evil of absenteeism. There are families, also, that have estates in England as well as in . Ireland, and who naturally prefer residing in the former couqtry. Those gentlemen, however, are all the more deserving of our esteem, who remain at home, where it is hardly possible that they should not in some measure ameliorate the lot of their poor tenants. There are, after all, many ¦of these voluntary martyrs, and my hospitable host of Edenvale being one of them, I returned ¦from my walk with feelings of increased esteem for him, nor was it without some regret that I took leave of him on the following morning. KILRUSH AND FATHER MATHEW. The county westward of Ennis and Edenvale is the dark side of the county of Clare, the wildest, poorest, and most barren part of it. I had, nev ertheless, two inducements for visiting these wild regions. First, I had heard that the celebrated Father Mathew was on his way to Kilrush, the most easterly town on the Shannon ; and sec ondly, in the vicinity of this town lies the island ofScattery, on which stands one of the finest of the Irish " Round Towers," and, again, the ru ins of " Seven Churches." From Edenvale to Kilrush the distance is about sixteen English miles, and along the whole way, though this was the main road for the east ern part of the country, I passed not a single vil lage, nor a single hut fit for a human habitation. The landscape was everywhere naked and tree less ; the colour of the soil was the most melan choly that can be imagined — black, or a dirty brown — for one great bog seemed to cover%all things, even the rocks. If it made me sad, how ever, how much sadder must such a country make the poor gle'ia adscript/as, the vassal of a hard landlord, thelather of a group of starving ragged children ! In Hungary, in Esthonia, in Lithuania, and in many of the other countries of Eastern Europe, one sees habitations ot great wretchedness, but such miserable cabins as I beheld in this part of Ireland, I scarcely rememtjer to have seen even in the countries I have mentioned. The fields that lay around these abject tenements, were ev idently cultivated with the utmost carelessness, and generally without any fence whatever, ex cept the adjoining bog. 1 remember, when I saw the poor Lettes in Livonia, I used to pity them for having to live in huts built of the unhewn logs of trees, the crevices being stopped up with moss. I pitied them on account of their low doors, and their di minutive windows, and gladly would 1 have ar ranged their chimneys for them in a more suit able manner. Well, Heaveh pardon my igno rance ! 1 knew not that I should ever see a peo ple on whom Almighty God had imposed yet heavier privations. Now that I have seen Ire land, it seems to me that the poorest among the Lettes, the Esthonians, and the Finlanders, lead a life of comparative comfort, and poor Paddy would feel like a king with their houses, their habiliments, and their daily warfare. A wodden house, with moss to stop up its crevices, would be a palace in the wildf regions of Ireland. Paddy's cabin is built of earth ; one shovelful over the other, with a few stones min gled here and there, till the wall is high enough. But perhaps you will say, the roof is thatched or covered with bark? Ay, indeed! A few sods of grass cut from a neighbouring bog are his only thatch. Well, but a window or two at least, if ¦ it be only a pane of. glass fixed in the wall ? or the bladder of some animal, or a piece of talc, as may often be seen in a Walachian hut ? What idle luxury were this ! There are thousands of cabins in which not a trace of a window is to be seen ; nothing but a little square hole in front, which doubles the duty of door, window, and chimney ; light, smoke, pigs, and children, all must pass in and out of the same aperture 1 A French author, Beaumont, who had seen the Irish peasant in his cabin, and the North American Indian in his wigwam, has assured us that the savage is better provided for than the poor man in Ireland. Indeed the question may be raised, whether in the whole world a nation is to be found that is subjected to such physical pri vations as the peasantry in some parts, of Ire land. This fact cannot be placed in too strong a light, for if it can once be shown that the wretchedness of the Irish population is without a parallel example on the globe, surely every friend of humanity will feel himself called on to reflect whether means may not be found for rem- edvmg an evil of so astounding a magnitude ! , A Russian peasant, no doubt, is the slave of a harder master, but still he is fed and housed to ' his content, and no trace of mendicancy is to be seen in him- The Hungarians are certainly not " among the best used people in the world; still, what fine wheaten bread, and what wine, has even the humblest among them for his daily fare I The Hungarian would scarcely believe it, if he were to be told there was a country in which the inhabitants must content themselves with potatoes every alternate day in the year. Servia and Bosnia are reckoned among the . most wretched countries of Europe, and certain ly the appearance of one of their villages has lit tle that is attractive about it ; but at least the people, if badly housed, are well clad. We look . 24 IRELAND. not for much luxury or comfort among the Tartars of the Crimea; we call them poor and barbarous, but good heavens! they look at least like human creatures. They have a national costume, their houses .are habitable, their or chards are carefully tended, and their gayly- harnessed ponies are mostly in good condition. An Irishman has nothing national about him,but his rags, his habitation is without a plan, his do mestic economy without rule or law. We have beggars and paupers ampng us, but they form at least an exception; whereas, in Ireland; beggary or abject poverty is the prevailing rule. The nation is one of beggars, and they who are above beggary seem to form the exception. The African negroes go naked, but then they have a tropical sun to warm them. The Irish are little removed from a state of nakedness, -and their clinjate, though not cold, is cooi, and ex- tremely humid. The Indians in America live wretchedly enough at times, but they have no knowledge of a better condition, and, as they are hunters, they have every now and then a productive chase, and are able to make a number of feast-days in the year. Many Irishmen have but one day on which they eat flesh, namely, on Christmas day. Every other day they feed on potatoes and no thing but potatoes. Now this is inhuman ; for the appetite and stomach 'of man claim variety in fopd, and nowhere else do we find human be ings gnawing, from year's epd to years end, at the same root, berry, or weed. There are ani mals who do so, but human beings, nowhere ex cept in Ireland. There are nations of slaves, but they have, by long custom, been made unconscious of the yoke of slavery. This is not the case with the Irish, who have a strong feeling of liberty within them, and are fully sensible of the weight of the yoke they have to bear. They are intelligent enough to know the injustice done them by the distorted laws of their country ; and while they are them selves enduringthe extreme of poverty, they have frequently before them, in the, manner of life of their English landlords, a spectacle of the most refined luxury that human ingenuity ever in vented. What awakens the most painful feelings in travelling through one of these rocky, boggy districts, rich in nothing but ruins, is this: whether you look back into the past, or forward to tbe future, no prospect more cheering presents itself. There is not the least trace left to show that the country has ever been better cultivated, or that a happier race ever dwelt in it. It seems as if wretchedness had prevailed there from time immemorial ; as if rags had succeeded rags, bog had formed over bog, ruins had given birth to ruins, and beggars had begotten beggars, for a lbng series of centuries. Nor does the future present a more cheering view. Even for the poor- Greeks under Turkish domination there was more hope than for the Irish under the Eng lish. The Turks were never more than a garri-, son in Greece ; the English have struck the deep est roots into all parts of Ireland, and by so many links has the conquest been riveted upon the na tive race, that it is too painful to contemplate even for a moment the only means by which the present state of things can be altered. What a revolution would follow if merely those families were deprived of their estates who are known to have acquired them by vio lent or dishonourable means ! The descendants ' of the rightful owners are in many cases still; living, and well known; but to right all these wrongs would plunge so many thousands into misery, and give rise to so many wide-spread calamities, that every one must wish to see the levelling hand of Time obliterate these painful ^ recollections. In the next place, as the English and their in justice are not alone in fault, but the main root . of Irish misery is to be sought, in the indolence, levity, extravagance, and want of energy of the national character, the question arises, How shall we inspire the people with a new mind? How shall we instil into them industry and per severance; and how shall we eradicate the tur bulent and revengeful spirit, which leads them to murder their oppressors, whereby they but aggravate their misery, and tighten their bonds? At times we stopped at a mean inn to change horses. The walls were generally tapestried, with proclamations offering rewards for the ap prehension of criminals. Fifty pounds were promised for the apprehension of those who- had murdered Farmer So-and-so; thirty pounds for information that wpuld lead to the convic tion of those who had burned a mill, and ill- treated the inmates to such a degree, that two of them had since died ; and. many others of the same kind. I had not time to read all these placards, instructive as they were respecting the condition of the country. In passing one field, I noticed a figure that bore, a striking resemblance to one of those dressed-up mannikins which in Germany we are accustomed to stick up in a cornfield or a kitchen-garden to frighten away the birds. A congregation of rags and. tatters were flapping, in the wind, the remains of a hat hung where the head ought to have been, and two sticks, for legs, projected from his garments. Suddenly this figure, which had deceived me while it stood still, moved up towards me to ask for alms, and I now saw before me the complete picture of a well-known spectral apparition that was shown in England some years ago under t(ie. , title of the Living Skeleton. The said Living, Skeleton,, by-the-by, came from Ireland, Does the habitual famine of so large a portion of the population tend to the multiplication of such morbid specimens of humanity ? We carried with. us the letter bags intended for the several villages and country seats lying away from the road. At every stage we saw one of these living scarecrows waiting to take charge of the bags intended for the adjoining lo calities. The postmen tried to arrange their rags, in a way to protect the correspondence of the country from the effects^pf the weather. As I looked on these ragged, starved beings, I could apt help thinking of the comfortable-looking fel-. lows to whom, in Prussia and Saxony, is- en trusted the not unimportant duty of forwarding the public correspondence from village to vil-- lage. Not one in a hundred of those who, look like beggars really be^, still the professional mendi cants are numerous enough, in all conscience. Most of them are decorated with Father Math- ew's temperance medal, often as a matter of speculation, inasmuch as many are disposed to give more liberally to those who, having pledg ed themselves to abstain from intoxicating, li- quors,xare thought less likely to make a bad use of any gift that may be bestowed upon them. Many people in Ireland now make a point of IRELAND. 35 never giving any alms to a beggar who cannot show his temperance medal. My driver on the last stage to Kilrush was full of fairies and' legends, and stories of the beautiful and happy realms where the elfin sprites held sway. All depressed nations are apt to indulge in these visions. As we were rolling in the dusk of evening down the hills, and approaching the little town, he told me of a king who had once been conveyed to this happy land by the fairies. This king lived long in the blissful regions, but one day a longing came over him to see the earth again and mingle with men. The fairies thereupon gave him an en chanted horse, and told him that as long as he continued on his horse's' back he would enjoy unimpaired youth and vigour, as he had done during the 200 years he had Spent with them, but that the spell would be broken the moment he set his foot on the earth. The king was de lighted to see his old mother earth again, but took especial care not to quit the saddle, till he arrived in front of his own palace, where he had formerly been wont to command. Riding into the courtyard, he saw another king com manding there, and was very little pleased with the commands that this other king was issuing. Eager to set his successor to right, the new-com er forgot himself for a moment. He sprang in dignantly from the saddle, and while yet de scending through the air, he became conscious of his imprudence, and uttered a scream of de spair. As he touched the ground his graceful, manly form shrunk into the decrepitude of 200 years, and, unable to exist under so heavy a weight of years, he immediately gave up the ghost. The enchanted horse, meanwhile, had vanished, but the new king recognised his pred ecessor by a golden medal round his neck, and caused a splendid monument to be erected to his memory. I am con vinced.that a diligent collector in Ire- .and might easily find materials for more than 1001 nights, and that an Irish Sheherasade might, with her marvellous narratives, have preserved her life quite as long as did the Arabian with hers. I am surprised that so little has been printed of the rich Irish popular poetry. O'Connell, when he moves about in Ireland, has always a long tail of admirers after him. A traveller, on arriving in a new place, is sel dom without a similar tail. If he go to see a sight, he may reckon on the attendance of at least a dozen cicerones. Along the high road, a little tail of children and beggars will be certain ly, rolling behind him, and on entering a town bis little tail immediately grows into a big one by the accession of innkeepers and their waiters. In short, every star in Ireland assumes the char acter of a comet. As I drove into Kilrush I had* at least twenty grown people, and twice as many children running behind my car, some to beg, some to recommend inns and shops, some out of curiosity, but most of them for the mere fun of the thing. \ Kilrush is a small seaport town, and, like all seaport towns in Ireland, has fewer ruins and a greater appearance of freshness and comfort than any of the places in the interior. I put up under the roof of an old sailor who had fought, in his time, under Nelson, and now directed the only tolerable hostelry in the place. My first walk was to the ground where Father Mathew was to be received. The temperance societies have their places of meeting in every town in Ireland, and these are called " temper ance halls." The temperance hall of Kilrush lay in a by-street, a small court yard was at front of it, and a few steps led up to the house door. The hall itself, if.l am not mistaken, was used in the daytime as a national school, and in the evening the men of temperance held their meetings there. A shilling was demanded of every one who entered, for which he was enti tled, in the evening, to partake of the soiree that was to be given. A resident of the town, and one of the most distinguished among the tem perance men, whose acquaintance i had al ready made, showed me the .decorated hall, which was still empty. Round about the. walls hung the banners of the several corporate bodies of the town, surmounted by mottoes all calcu lated to please the popular taste of the time. That of the cabinet-makers, for instance, was, "Sobriety! Domestic Comfort! and National Independence !" This inscription struck me im mediately. " What," I asked myself, " has na tional independence to do with temperance, which is a purely moral question ?" I believe, however, that, in point of fact, the two causes are more nearly united than is generally sup posed. It appeared to me as if all these tem perance men were engaged, in a conspiracy against English ascendancy. Nowhere has the cause of temperance more ad herents than in Ireland. Not less than five millions of Irish, according to Father Mathew's own re port, have received the pledge at his hands. "Our temperance society," said my companion, "is the only genuine one in the world. There were temperance societies in America before ours, but they, are not the thing after all. They don't even adopt the principle of total abstinence, and break the pledge very often. But with us, when Father MatheW has once blessed a man, and hung the medal round his neck, he is dedicated to temperance for life, and from that moment detests all intoxicating liquors himself, and feels an aversion to those who continue to drink. So powerful is the effect of our apostle's blessing." The Catholic priesthood in Ireland looked at first with jealousy upon the temperance move ment, set on foot as it was by a simple monk; but they have since yielded to the current, and have even placed themselves at the head of it, . the consequence of which has been that the whole matter has assumed a catholic religious character. Every great movement in a nation, and every widely ramified confederacy, whatever its object may be, is certain to assume a political charac ter, and O'Connell and his patriots could not fail to see the great additional strength they would acQ"ire from an accession of so powerful an aux-r iliary. They have, therefore, on all occasions, declared their adhesion to the temperance cause, which has thus been made to assume a patriotic anti-English character. Temperance, by giving- to its votaries greater domestic comfort and moral vigour, strengthens their claims and hopes of national independence, and the conspiracy of temperance and the conspiracy of independence may one day melt into one. Garlands and festoons were wound about the hall. A large horse-shoe table stood in the cen tre of the room-, and boards resting on empty casks and bloeks of wood were arranged as; seats. At the head of the table were two arm chairs, one for Father Mathew, and one for the principal catholic priest of the place, who was- IRELAND. to act as chairman. Behind these chairs a gi gantic cornucopia was represented, with a mul titude of shamrocks falling out; another allu sion to Irish nationality. On side tables stood a countless host of teapots and teacups, and huge piles of bread-and-butter, for oh all solemn oc casions tea is the nectar of the temperance men, and bread-and-butter their chief food. My companion had still many things to ar range, so, having seen the hall, I went out into the yard in front, where two tallow candles fixed upon the doorposts threw a weak flickering light upon the assembled multitude. Men and wom en were crowding upon each other in the street, and boys had perched themselves on the walls and enclosures. I heard many people say that Father Mathew had already arrived ; that a .deputation of the temperance men had been out to meet him ; that he had only gone " to rest a bit after his journey" at the house of the priest ; and that he would soon make his appearance. The enthusiasm Of the multitude impressed me with something of a religious awe, and I thought -of scenes in the history of the apostles, and of their descriptions of their journeys, and of the many small towns they visited. Father Mathew instituted the Irish Temper ance Associatien on the 10th of April, 1838, since when he has been constantly travelling about, like the apostles in Greece and Asia Mi- Bor, partly by his eloquence and encouragement 4o strengthen the fidelity of those already enroll ed in the great cause, and partly to receive the pledge from those who wish to become members of the association, on whom he then bestows his medal and blessing. The greater part of the year he spends in travelling about; the rest at "Cork, his usual place of residence. Suddenly the cry rose, " He comes ! he comes !" -and I heard at the other end of the street one of those detestable musical displays with which the temperance men generally open their processions and solemnities. I ought not, perhaps, to speak harshly of anything intended to serve as a decora tion to so good a cause, but, often as I have heard these temperance bands, 1 never could bring my ear to discover anything like harmony in their -combinations, and, I believe, that if all those drums and trumpets, clarionets and horns, were to repeal their union, and each man to play his -own independent tune, the discord could not be greater than it is. It is truly a pity that temper ance has, hitherto, "allied itself so little to good taste. At the cry of " He comes ! he comes !" I repaired to my teacup, which had very obliging ly been placed immediately opposite to Father Mathew's chair. The other friends of temper ance likewise hasteried to take their places, and 1 observed that of both sexes there was a very decided' preponderance of young people. The great, the famed apostle of temperance, Ihe most prominent man in Ireland, with the ex- -ception of O'Connell, entered the room. He ad vanced slowly through ihe crowd, for every one •wished to shake hands with him, anrl he had enough to do with his friends to the right and the left. At last he arrived at his place opposite mine, and sat down in his garlanded chair. I was formally introduced to the reverend chair man, who, in his turn, presented me to Father Mathew, with whom I exchanged a lew frien-ily •words of welcome. He is decidedly a man ofa .distinguislied appearance, and I was not long in ¦comprehending the influence which it was in Ms ¦power to exercise over the people. The multi tude require a handsome and imposing person. in the individual who is to lead them, and Father Mathew is unquestionably handsome. He is not tall, he is about the same height and figure as Napoleon, and is, throughout, well built and well proportioned. He has nothing of the meager, haggard, Franciscan monk about him; but, on the contrary, without being exactly corpu lent, his person is well rounded, and in excellent Condition. His countenance is fresh and beam ing with health. His movements and address are simple and unaffected, and altogether he has something about him that wins for ..i.n the good will of those he addresses. His '(-mures are regular, and full of a noble expression i mild ness and indomitable firmness. His <&»«;.. are large, and he is apt to keep his glance r.*.j for a long time on the same object. His forehead is straight, high, and commanding, and his nose — a part of the face which in some expresses such intense vulgarity, and in others so much nobleness and delicacy-eis particularly hand- sbme, though somewhat too aquiline. His mouth is small and well proportioned, and his chin round, projecting, firm, and large, like Na poleon's. Although fifty-four years old, he is still in pos session of the fullest bodily and mental vigour. Till about five years ago he lived as a simple Franciscan monk, and was Very little known beyond the circle of his friends. It happened,. however, that, in 1838, some quakers in the city of Cork,- deploring the wretchedness caused among the poorer classes by their habitual drunkenness, determined to establish a temper ance association in that city, and as the work did not proceed well in their hands, they sug gested to Father Mathew that he might exercise his powers of eloquence most beneficially, if he would devote himself to the cause. He did so, and on the 10th of April, 1838, the first Total Abstinence Society wasformed. In a few years his exertion and influence have beep enabled to raise the cause to its present prosperous condi tion. In 1838, three months after the establish ment of the society, 500 members had enrolled themselves in the association ; in 1840 a million, and in 1842 five millions. It may be questioned whether history can present a parallel to this great moral revolution, or whether any man ever acquired so great and bright a name in so short a time. Political fabrics and religious dogmas have often crumbled together, or been utterly ex tinguished, in a surprisingly short space of time; but where shall we find another example of a nation rising at the call of an individual, to shake offa vice to which it had long seemed to be peculiarly wedded? to struggle, not against privileged classes or priestly domination, but to root out its own evil habits, and devote itself to a strict system of abstinence? A whole nation is here doing what a few pious monks only had strength of mind to do in the middle age=. In great reforms and revolutions, there have ever been large classes who derived an immedi ate temporal profit from the change. Maby princes seconded Luther's attempts to bring about a reformation in the church, because there were wealthy convents, and large ecclesiastical estates to be confiscated. . The French revolution led to a division of the domains of the privileged few, among the insurgent many. The revolu tionary heroes had, therefore, a powerful lever at command, when they stirred up the multitude with the prospect of enriching themselves at the IRELAND. 27 •cost of others. In this Irish temperance reform, on the contrary, all those who from the first have most zealously promoted it, seem to be losers in a worldly point of view. One of Father Ma- thew's brothers was the owner of a large distillery! in which two other brothers held shares. His sister was married to a great distiller of the name of Harkett, and, in short, ail his family seem to have been connected With distilleries. All these people have been seriously injured in their world ly prosperity by the reform brought about by their distinguished relative, but this considera tion has in no way induced him to relax in his -exertions to promote what he believes to be the general good. The distillers, brewers, and pub licans were a more extensive and numerous class in Ireland than in any other country, and ¦were in a position to exercise great influence over their humbler fellow-countrymen. The no bility and clergy, too, must have been losers in the first instance; and then what enormous loss es must not the government have sustained in its revenue from "the excise ? The advantages to be obtained eventually from more sober and orderly subjects and tenants presented them selves only in a distant perspective. And, then, the people themselves! Were they not called upon to renounce what had long been almost their only solace in a world of wretchedness? They were to devote themselves to an habitual sobriety, calculated to make them the more deep ly conscious of their oppressed condition, and holding but only remote hopes of temporal gain. Advantages were indeed held out to those who would associate themselves to the cause, but the advantages were of so unearthly a nature, as, under ordinary circumstances, would have had but few charms in the eyes of sinful men. Or der, industry, virtue, domestic happiness, and the cessation of broils — these, said the apostles of temperance, were the fruits to be gathered from sobriety and abstinence. The landlords were promised that sober tenants would be more -Tegular in the payment of their rents, and the government was told that general habits of tem perance would make the population more order ly and loyal. These were all remote and con tingent advantages — at the outset, all were called on to submit to sacrifices. Nevertheless, the people poured in by thousands and hundreds of thousands, and -readily made the sacrifices re quired of them. From four to eight thousand persons often took the pledge on the same day, and on one day the number amounted even to thirteen thousand. Never did the cause of any apostle triumph so gloriously in so short a time. At his first appearance in Galway, two hundred thousand persons collected together to see him, to hear him, and most of them to be enrolled in the list of teetotalism. As the Irish temperance association has existed only five years; and has during that time (according to Father Mathew's own account) been joined by five millions of members, three thousand new temperance men musty on an average, have been enrolled every day. These are circumstances well calculated to awaken our wonder,, and, I repeat it, we shall scarcely find in history any parallel to them. The thing seems to me to be more honourable to the Irish nation than all that has hitherto been told of them. At the same time, it must not be supposed that the great reform is effected wholly- by spiritual appeals to public virtue, or that all .who have associated themselves to the cause of sobriety have been actuated only by benevolent and philanthropic motives. The Teetotalers, like theChartists and Repealers, have theirgreat processions, their numerous assemblies and their social meetings. On these occasions speeches are made and* resolutions carried, songs are suhg, and some very bad and very loud music is played. The passion with which the British people take up their principles, and temperance among the rest, is often carried to such extrav agance, as to give rise to an intemperance of a new kind. The music at these temperance fes tivals is boisterous and bad, the speeches inflated and clamorous, the meetings are often protracted to an advanced hour of the night, and conclude amid the dancing and jollification of the some what riotous votaries of temperance. Moreover, like the leaders of other parties, the temperance men avail themselves of that great noisy trum pet of the day — the periodical press. Laud atory and exaggerated reports are inserted in the newspapers ; the " Life of the Very Reverend Father Mathew, with a cbrrect account of his miraculous labours in favour of Teetotalism," is written in' various forms, and distributed among the people by thousands of copies, and numerous tracts are compiled to show the inju rious effects of drunkenness, the blessings that follow upon temperance, and the future prospects that its establishment would open to Ireland. These tracts are not always written in a style of apostolic simplicity, but full of the bombast, ostentation, and extravagance by which all par ty appeals are distinguished in England. Even. the minor theatres are turned to account, and the Life of a Drunkard is represented on the stage, the hero being hurried, while under the influence of liquor; to the commission of murder, and af terwards tied up to a gallows, to the edification of the audience. All this is going on simultaneously with the fine and inspired discourses of Father Mathew, and with the virtuous exertions of others ani mated by the purest enthusiasm for the noble cause ; and he is obliged to tolerate and encour age all this, because mankind, and the mankind of Great Britain in particular, is not easily mo ved without a little quackery. Nor are the motives of all who join the tem perance movement always entirely pure; We have seen that the Irish beggars mount the tee total medal in the hope of recommending them selves the more to the benevolent. Some land lords take the pledge, by way of setting an ex ample to their tenants, in the hope that these, when gained over to habits of sobriety, will be more regualar in the payment of their rents. Many are actuated by motives of economy, and are happ" to have so amiable a pretext for offer ing water instead of wine to their guests, and tea instead of punch. With some again fanaticism comes into play. They not only imagine their spuls will be better off in another world for their temperance in this; but they ascribe to the bless ing of Father Mathew and to the medal which he confers, certain salutary and miraculous pow ers, which give to the medal the character of an amulet or talisman. Some of these things are unfavourable, but others take their origin in the peculiarities of the Irish character. A temper ance movement in Germany , would assume another bearing. It would never come to total abstinence, the religious and almost fanatical enthusiasm would fall away, the medal would not be suspended to every man's heck, and the 28 IRELAND. tumultuous meetings and noisy soirees would give way to meetings of a different kind. It is time, however, that 1 should return to my great tea-party at Kilrush. In the first place the chairman addressed a speech to the meeting. He congratulated all present, and the whole town of Kilrush, on the visit which the great apostle of temperance had condescended to pay them. As often as Father Mathew was mentioned, the orator bowed re spectfully to him, and spoke of him only as the "great apostle of temperance," the "great man gifted by God," or made use of expressions equal ly strong. It struck me that Father Mathew ought not to allow these exaggerated flatteries to be addressed to him, and that it. would be more becoming in him to discourage them, in the same way that he repudiates the miraculous powers attributed to him by the people.; but the Irish seem to delight in a" pomp of wOrds, and exaggerations of the kind alluded to may be ne cessary to the maintenance of his influence. I forgot to say that when he entered the room the babd struck up the English hymnof triumph, " See the conquering hero comes !" How is it possible for any men to be guilty of so absurd and misplaced a compliment! Father Mathew himself rose next, and ex pressed his pleasure at finding himself once more among the townsmen of Kilrush. He was glad to see those who at his former visit had taken the pledge at his hands, assembling so nu merously around him, and he rejoiced to hear that they had remained faithful to the engage ments into which they had entered. Then amid Constant marks of enthusiasm, and- incessant cries of "hear, hear!" he proceeded to speak of - the progress Of the great cause. He gave a cir cumstantial account of his last journey to Glas gow, where, he said, eighty thousand persons of all sects had come to meet him, and though he was but a worthless straw on the great s'ream of temperance, he was received there by all as if he had been an angel from Heaven. Father Mathew's eloquence is often spoken of with great admiration. He has, in fact, a fine clear voice, a glowing zeal, and a firm convic tion of the sacredness of his cause. Neverthe less, he hesitates at times, and even stammers, and- looks as if he found it impossible to con quer the difficulty of some word or idea. His speech is interrupted, his tongue no longer obeys him, the construction of his sentences becomes confused, the colour mounts to his face, and his fine countenance becomes even distorted. He makes some convulsive efforts, and the rapid movement of his hands is expressive of his em barrassment. After a few remarks, however, he recovers himself; his thoughts begin to flow again, the new idea is born, the fluency of speech returns, and the harangue proceeds in the same melodious tones, and with the same rich ness of thought as at first. This occasional hes, itatipn on the part of the speaker, does not, how ever, in my opinion, weaken the interest of his hearers; on the contrary, the interest is heigh tened; indeed, I believe, that a slight defect or irregularity in anything really beautiful, increas es our admiration for the object itself. Father Mathew has a fine and delicate hand, and dresses well, almost elegantly. His whole appearance and deportment are perfectly gentle manly, which is the more remarkable as his ef forts and discourses have always been chiefly directed to the humbler classes, and men who aim at popularity among the multitude are apt" to affect a certain cynicism by way of ingratia ting themselves with those whom they address. O'Connell may be cited as an instance, whose demeanour is the very reverse of anything aris tocratic. Amid loud, general, and endless applause, Father Mathew resumed his seat, the noise be ing quite as great as on his entrance. There was clapping of hands, kicking-with feet, roar,- ing,; screaming, and amid all the tumult the trumpets endeavoured to obtain a hearing again. There was one corpulent old gentleman, one of the leading men of the place, down whose broad forehead the tea he had drunk seemed to be sending the perspiration in rolling, drops; he thought, apparently, it was impossible there could be too much cheering, for he kept inces santly waving his handkerchief, and shouting out "Again ! again !". But these things are an indispensable accompaniment to temperance in Ireland. At every interval between the speeches, the temperance band in the gallery played Irish and English national melodies, but though their leader beat time most indefatigably, he found it impossible to«keep his performers together. While this was going on we. drained our cups in quick succession, and the conversation was kept up round the table with much animation. I asked Father Mathew whether he had no in tention of extending his labours beyond Ireland and Scotland. He replied that he had long con templated visiting some parts of Germany, and would have done so, but for his ignorance of the language. For my own part I believe he- will scarcely extend his efforts beyond those places in England where his countrymen have formed numerous colonies. He will have quite enough to do to keep the machine going which he has set in motion. A number of young women, and some lovely and wicked-looking ones among them, crowded' round the " apostle." Some were sitting by his side, some at his feet, and some in each other's laps, merely for the sake of being nearer to the holy man, and now and then touching him. Some beautiful old Irish melodies were sung, for Ireland, though its early history has had lit tle interest for the rest of the world, has received from remote ages some melodies of exquisite beauty. Nor was there any lack of toast, nor did these fail to call forth speeches of more than moderate length. The toast proposed with the most edifying speech, but by no means received with the greatest enthusiasm, was "The Irish clergy." At the very outset, Father Mathew had inti mated to the various speakers that they were bound to abstain from all political allusions. " The cause in which they had assembled," he said, "was the cause of temperance, and among men united to promote such an end, religious and political subjects of difference ought to be studiously avoided." Nevertheless, one of the speakers, forgetful of this injunction, alluded to O'Connell in terms that could not but be offensive to tho^e who were not the admirers of the popular tribune. "Order! order!" shouted Father Ma thew with a commanding voice. This ought to have been done by the chairman, but as he neg. lected his duty, Father Mathew lost no time in seizing the reins, and the prompt and command ing manner in which he did so, and the readiness with which he was obeyed, convinced me of thst IRELAND. 29 •Strictness with which he was wont to maintain -order in his assemblies, and of his sincerity in wishing to keep so pure and sacred a cause free from the pollution of those political dissensions by which Ireland has the misfortune to be af flicted. Toward midnight, after a countless succession of speeches, answers, toasts, and countertoasts, Father Mathew retired. The tables and teapots were immediately put aside, and a ball commen ced, which must have been kept up till a late hour, for the morning was far advanced when I heard the temperance band returning home, and still playing their favourite melodies as they passed along the street. At nine o'clock on the following morning, Fa ther Mathew was again in the .field, that is to say, in the church, where he read mass, after which he administered the pledge to a few hun dred persons who presented themselves for that purpose. The medal which he bestows on these occasions, and of which mention has so often ¦ been made, is a round piece ofnewter, of about the size of a five-franc piece. The words of the pledge are inscribed upon it, consisting of a sol emn promise to abstain from all intoxicating li- quors, and to persuade others as much as possi ble to do the same. Some wear their medals constantly as a kind of amulet, others place them round the necks of their little children, who are often made to pledge themselves to abstain from a vice, the nature of which they are scarcely able to comprehend. In the same way the Rus sians take their children to the communion-table, -long before the little creatures can have any con ception of the nature of the sacrament in which they are made partakers. Highly gratified by the opportunity ' I had en joyed of making the acquaintance of the great apostle of Jeetotalism, the "gifted divine," and "with silent but sincere wishes for his farther suc- -cess, I left the little town of Kilrush. The ques tion that suggested itself to me was, whether a reformation so triumphantly begun was likely to be permanent. Much of the triumph is person al to Father Mathew. He it is in whom the people place confidence. From him alone will they receive the pledge, and his blessing alone has a binding power in their eyes. His elo quence, his indefatigable activity, his energetic enthusiasm, keep the thing together, and main tain the singular enchantment by which so many of the evil spirits of Ireland are held in restraint. Every one must wish for a long continuance of the good and able man's life, but his last hour must come sooner or later, and then,) the ques tion is, will the good work long survive him ? The past history of the Irish people affords us no clue to guide us to a solution ; we are reduced to mere speculations, based on the national char acter and on the nature of the reform itself. The former holds out fewer hopes to us than the lat ter. The Irish have at all times been addicted to excess and extravagance; they are naturally deficient in energy, and they live under great op pression. These circumstances are all calcula ted to seduce to drunkenness, and the main fea tures of a nation's character are not easily chan ged; ,In the next place, an Irishman is endowed with an astonishing fund of superstition, and a belief in the divine mission of Father Mathew may have quite as large a share in the restraint which the people at present impose upon them selves, as any. virtuous resolution they may feel to correct their vices. If so, the disappearance of the great magician from the scene may relax the bonds that now hold the temperance men to gether, and everything may sink back into the former chaos. On the other hand, there is-no doubt that the temperance association has for the last three or four years exercised a salutary restraint on the majority of the Irish nation. This period has been quite long enough to make the people feel many of the advantages resulting from their al tered manner of life. Improved health, domestic peace, reduced expenditure, improved condition, all these are blessings of which the temperance man soon becomes conscious after haying taken the pledge. Other advantages there are, but of a nature less evident to the multitude. Such as an increased taste for information, an improved education of children, and thus eventually of the whole nation, a more exalted opinion of inde pendence, and eventually a certain emancipa tion of the humbler classes from their present servile and. depressed condition. The leisure which the drunkard spent in a state of brutish insensibility, is employed by the temperance man in reading, and thus both time and taste are gained for mental cultivation. His own more refined tastes cannot fail to be communicated to his children. Intelligence and knowledge con stitute, however, in themselves a vast political power, and in proportion as temperance leads to habits of economy, and these to increased world ly wealth, another great element of power will be formed. Much of what O'Connell, at the head of his helots, demands so boisterously, and yet with such entire futility, the English and the oligarchs that rule over Ireland will not feel if. safe to withhold from a sober,, intelligent, and economical people, that comprehend the nature of the rights they ask for. The power of habit, too, is often greater over the human mind than the best resolution?. Should, therefore, Father Mathew's life be pro longed, and his benevolent mission be exercised long enough to enable the temperance move ment to bring about such a change in the habits and manners of the people, as may modify the national character, the battle will be gained, and the good cause permanently triumphant. Christianity, on its first appearance in Ireland, was as rapid in its progress as the cause of tem perance during the last few years. Yet Chris tianity, sudden as was its birth, and rapid its growth, has maintained itself 1400 years in Ire land. Let us hope that the omen is a good one for the cause of sobriety. In the mean time, the official returns show an immense falling off not only in the quantity of malt consumed in^the breweries and distilleries of Ireland, but also in the amount of duty re ceived there on foreign spirits apd wine. In 1833 the consumption amounted to 1,970,000 bushels of malt, in 1836 to 2,511,000, since when a constant decline ha's taken place, till in 1840 the quantity was only 1 ,600,000 bushels, or about half that of 1836. The spirit duty amounted— , 1836 ' 1839 1840 £1.510,092 1,402,1301,032,000 being a reduction of one-third in three-years. In what proportion the habits of temperance have gained ground among the higher classes, is shown by the reduced consumption of wines ahd foreign spirits. The duty on wine in Ire land was — 30 IRELAND. in 1836 £192,618 " 1H39 181.253 n 1840 162,1)88 On foreign spirits the duty was— in 1838 ,£29,479 " 1839 2«.3«3 , , '< 1840 22.268 1 showing a diminution on wine, in three years, of one-sixth, and on foreign spirits of one-fourth. In the same time there has been a constant in crease in the consumption of spirits both in Eng land and Scotland. The distress among ihe humbler classes may partly have caused these increased habits of intemperance; but increased intemperance, in its turn, must have greatly ag gravated the distress. To compare the habits of the three great di visions of the United Kingdom, it will suffice to show the quantity of malt consumed in each. In 1840— 15,0110,000 inhabitants of England consumed 34,000,000 bushels of malt 3,400.000 inhabitants of Scotland consumed 4.300,000 bush els of malt. (,000,000 inhabitants of Ireland consumed 1 ,600,000 bush els of malt. Of this malt, much was of course made into keer, and ought not to be taken into the account ¦when speaking of the consumption of spirits; •we find, however, that in 1840 — England paid £2 628.200 for spirit duty. Scotland " 1,541,300 " " Ireland " 1,032,000 " " Thus, two millions and a half in Scotland pay half as much again in the shape of spirit duty as eight millions of Irish. SCATTERY ISLAND AND THE ROUND TOWERS. On leaving Kilrush I entrusted my person and my portmanteau to a small boat which I had en gaged to carry me over to Scattery Island, and thence to the coast of Kerry. The morning was warm, and not a breath of wind disturbed the surface of the water, but the sun was completely concealed by a thick yellow fog, which scarcely allowed us to see beyond the length of our boat. Nevertheless, my boatmen' brought me in safety to the little green island, which I was about to visit for the sake of its interesting ruins, and by the time we reached its shore the fog had suffi ciently dispersed to allow us to distinguish the remains of its " Seven Churches," while the lofty column of ihe Round Tower presented itself at first as a dark line, and then gradually broke with more distinctness through the turbid at mosphere. These Round Towers are the most interesting remains of antiquity that Ireland possesses. Like most travellers in Ireland I was soon in fected with a passion for round towers, but as this passion is one of which few of my friends in Germany are likely to have a distinct idea, I believe that some introductory remarks on these venerable buildings will not be out of place here. These Round Towers are built of large stones, and when seen at a distance look rather like lofty columns than towers, being from the base to the top of nearly the same thickness. They are now indeed by no means all of the same height, many of them have fallen into iuins, but those which remain tolerably complete are all from 100 to 120 feet high, from forty to fifty in circumference, and from thirteen to sixteen in diameter. At the base the wall is always very thick' and strong, but becomes slighter towarus the lop. Within, the lower is hollow, without any opening but a door, generally eight or ten feet from the ground, and some very narrow apertures or windows, mostly four in number, near the top. These windows are usually turn ed tqwards the four cardinal points of the com pass. In all parts of Ireland these singular buildings are found scattered about, all resembling each other like the obelisks of Egypt. Sometimes round towers are found in solitary islands, some times on the side of a river, or in a plain, or some secluded corner of a valley. The whole number of them, according to the map of Ireland published by the Society fat the Diffusion of Use ful Humbled g?, is, at. present, 118; of these, fifteen,. are in a perfect slate of preservation, and of thirty- six little more than the foundation remains. The general name of "Round Towers" is very little characteristic of these remarkable buildings, for towers are seldom otherwise than round. Some writers have called them "pillar temples," but this name assigns to them a des tination which it is by no means certain that they bore. The characteristic peculiarity ot these towers consists in iheir resemblance to mighty pillars, and the most appropriate name for them would, in my opinion, be " pillar tow ers." In no part of Europe do we find any similar building of antiquity. In Scotland, it is said, two or three pillar towers exist, and these, it may be inferred, were reared by Irish colonists. In, the far east only we come to erections of the same character and dimension; the first thing that a traveller is reminded of on seeing an Irish round tower, is a Turkish minaret. No authentic records exist to guide us to a knowledge of the time when these towers were built, or of the use for which they were intend ed. Everything proves that they have existed from a very remote antiquity, and the most op posite conclusions- have been adopted with re spect to the period and object of their erection ; none of these hypotheses carry conviction with them, but of many, at least, the absurdity can be shown with little trouble. Some, for instance, have maintained that these towers were built by the Danes; but these sages appear to have" for gotten that round towers are found in parts of the island where the Danes never set foot, as, for in stance, in Donegal and the remote counties of Connaught. Besides, had these been Danish erections, how came the Danes not to leave any of them in England ? Popular tradition assigns them tothePhcenicians, aridlearned antiquarians ought not too hastily to reject popular tradition, for often the memory of a people undergoes less corruption and'change in ihe course of a thou sand years, than do the records preserved in books. There is nothing very improbable in the hypothesis that these lowers were built by the Phoenicians, who are known to have visited the island and to have exercised power there. Travellers have recently discovered in the Per sian province of Masahderan towers precisely similar to. those of Ireland, and in India erec tions of a similar kind, dedicated to religious- purposes, have also been met with. This, taken in connexien with the shape of the Turkish min aret, makes it extremely probable that the round towers have had an oriental origin. Many have been staggered by the great antiquity which such . an hypothesis would assign to the Irish towers, IRELAND. 31 but they are buildings of wonderful solidity, and there is nothing at all extraordinary in ihe sup position that these stones may have remained in their present position for some thousands of years. Have we not even brick buildings ol Roman erection that are known to have been built before the Christian era? No less diversified have been the opinions re specting the use for which the round towers were intended, and on this subject some strangely ab surd doctrines have been advanced. Some peo ple have supposed them to have formed chains of telegraph stations spread out over the whole island ; but the absurdity of this notion is suffi ciently shown by the position of some of the towers upon low ground, in the corners of val leys, and on remote and solitary islands, whence nothing could well be seen, and nothing there fore made known. This opinion is, neverthe less, still entertained by many. Otjiers suppose the towers to have been fortresses, erected in the early ages of Christianity, as places of refuge, in case of danger, for the priests and their church treasures. I can hardly think, however, that any people could have selected such a style of architecture for places of defence. The defend ers within would have had to stand upon each other's heads, and their only means of annoying their enemies would have been the four small epenings at the top, 80 or 100 feet from the ground. Besides, nad the round towers been military places of defence, they would probably have all been destroyed in the course of the con stant wars by which the island has been afflicted, whereas the round towers have evidently been preserved by the people with great care, and have ever been looked on by them with the greatest veneration. The notion that the round towers were built by the early Christians as steeples to hang their bells in, is equally untenable, for though they are frequently found in close vicinity to the ruins of churches, yet no kind of steeple could be worse constructed for such a purpose, as the sound of the bells would scarcely have been heard through the small apertures at the top, except by those who had already assembled afoundl the tower. Many other opinions have been hazarded, but all at variance with the popular tradition, which represents the round towers to have been the temples of the old fire-worshippers from the east, who came over with the Phoenicians. The poel Moore and other Irish antiquarians are dis posed to adopt this tradition, the more so as the pyreas of the Ghebers, according to the account of several travellers, bear the closest similitude to the Irish towers, anil because th" worship of fire is known to have been at one time the pre vailing religion of Ireland. The dark interiors of these towers must have been well calculated to show the sacred, fire preserved there to the greatest advantage, and the height of the en trance door from the ground would be explained by the sanctity of the place, to which onlv a few were probably allowed to have access. The great height of the towers has been objected as entirely superfluous, supposing them to have been applied to such a use; but it may have been customary to place the sacred fire in, an elevated position, as an additional mark of re spect, and then the towers mav have answered more purposes than one; from the windows at the top signals mav have been made to summon the faithful to prayer, or the apertures may have been used for astronomical observations, intended to fix the lime of the religious feasts. Christian emblems have been discovered in. some of these towers. On the summit of that near Swords, in the county of Dublin, is a small stone cross, and in others even representations of the Virgin have been found; but these, there cannot be a doubt, are of modern addition. That, churches, and cemeteries should so often he found in the vicinity of these towers is noth ing surprising, for a building that has once be come sacred in the eyes of. a people,, generally retains a portion of its sanctity, even though the original religion may be utterly swept away.. Most of the early Christian churches were erect ed on the foundations of heathen lemples, and a large portion of the Turkish mosques were for merly Christian churches. Generally, where in the vicinity of a round tower there occur the ruins of churches, these are in number seven. , This has been explained! by supposing that previously to the appearance of St. Patrick, Christianity; but not Roman. Qatholic Christianity, had been introduced into- Ireland. , This ante-patrician Christianity is said to have been introduced by the Apostle James, who first preached the gospel in Ireland,, and established the Eastern church there, with the rites of the Eastern (Ecumenic Synods ; and the frequent appearance of seven churches close- to each other, is accounted for as a reference to the seven celebrated churches of the East. In. this hypothesis, though stoutly denied by the Roman Catholics, there is nothing improbable, and if true it affords another remarkable proof of the early connexion between Ireland and the- East. In no other Christian land in Europe do- we constantly find the ruins of ancient churches in groups of seven. We effected a landing on Scattery Island, called in ancient times Inniscattery, and at pres ent occupied by a few tenants of a Mr. M'Kean, who graze their cattle there. " It is a very old, ancient place," said one of the boatmen, as he was carrying me through the water on his. shoulders, for we had come to a landing-place where tne tide had left one foot of water over a large extent of coast. This pleonasm of "old? ancient" might be applied to many parts of Ire land, where, old and older ruins are constantly found in clo.se contiguity. . In general, where there are seven churches, in Ireland, some ancient saint is named as hair ing lived and died there, and as having belonged to the first preachers of Christianity in the country. \t Scatteryitis Saint Senanus, whose ?rave is still shown amid one of the ruins, and whose fame has been extended far beyond his native isle by one of Moore's melodies. These ancient ruins, however, have many graves of a more modern date ; for bodies are still brought over from the mainland to be interred at Scat tery. On the occasion of such a funeral, one boat serves generally as a hearse, and the mourners follow in other boats. I saw many tombstones onlv a few years old,, with new in scriptions, from whiJ. '.he ci'ding had scarcely begun to fade, and 'heir effect upon the solitary and remote island had a peculiar and by no means unpleasing effect. Among them were the lombs of several captains of ships, and it would have been difficult to suggest a more ap propriate place ot interment for such men than this little island cemetery at the mouth of ,a great river, with the wide ocean rolling in front. Indeed, there is- no other country in Europe where there are such interesting cemeteries, or 32 IRELAND. such picturesque tombs, as in Ireland, partly .on account of the abundance of ivy with which they are hung, and partly on account of the practice that still prevails of burying the dead among ruins. Of some of the seven churches onScattery isle, scarcely a trace remained ; but three of them were in tolerable preservation. Their walls, covered with ivy, remained, and into the wall of one of them, that nearest the round low er, a stone strangely sculptured into the form of. a human face, had been introduced. Strange to say.it has completely the stiff, masklike features -and projecting ears of the Egyptian statues, whence I conclude it must have belonged origi nally to some other building. On the Opposite wall -is a stone with evident traces of an ancient inscription. The round tower stands a little to the side. Although not perfect, it belongs to the most pic turesque in Ireland, for it has been struck by lightning, and has received a split on one side from top to bottom. On the south side it is cov ered completely with mosses and creeping plants; on the north and west side it is bare, the heavy winds, as the sailors told me, making all vege tation impossible there. Lightning and vegeta tion are the worst, enemies the round towers have to contend with, and it is strange that such ac tive foes should not have been able to over turn the whole Of them in a space of 2000 years. All the land upon the little island, except the cemetery, is pasturage. A small ballery has been erected here to protect the mouth of the' Shannon, the entrance to which river is defend ed by no less than six batteries and forts, while at the mouth of the Thames there is not one. On leaving Inniscattery, to repair to the king dom of Kerry, we had work enough before us, -for the tide was against us, besides which we had to contend. ¦with such a Variety of currents, that the boatmen required all their skill and ex perience to carry their slight skiff in safety to the little port of Tarbert, whither we were bound. The mouth'of the Shannon has rather the character of an arm of the sea, but to con sider it as such would be in violation of the prin ciples of Irish geography. The waves, now of a very respectable size, were rolling out towards the ocean ; but the fog was completely gone, and we had the most beautiful sunshine. With the exception of our own little bark, which seemed to crest the waves like a bird, neither ship nor boat was to be seen upon the noble es tuary, and without passing a human creature with whom we could have exchanged a saluta- , tion, we arrived at length in safety at our des tined harbour. There I learned, when it was too late, that without any additional expenditure of time or trouble, I might have effected a land ing at Ballybunian, whose marine caverns, at the mouth of the Shannon, are reckoned among the wonders of Ireland. These caverns stretch more than a mile from the sea into the land. Ireland is rich in remarkable caverns, many of •which are but little known to the scientific world. FROM TARBERT TO TRALEE. From Tarbert I proceeded on my^ourney on one of those remarkable cars which are still used in some parts of Ireland as means of pub lic conveyance from one town to another. These diligence cars are built upon the same principle as the jaunting cars, except that they run on four wheels, and are often drawn by four horses. . The seat on each side is long enough. to accommodate eight persons, and between the two seats is a kind of abyss called the "pit," in which the luggage is deposited. This pit is generally too small for all the boxes and trunks which it is intended to contain, and the remain der are piled up into a high wall that forms an effectual partition between the two divisions of passengers. Each traveller, therefore, sees only one side of the road; and when the vehicle stops to change horses or to rest them,, the one party is sure to have a deal to tell to those who have been looking only into the opposite half of the world. The number of passengers by one of these cars is very undefined ; for when all the seals are occupied, it is nolhing uncommon to see people sit in each other's laps, or place themselves, upon the luggage^or hang on to the carriage in a variety of ways. Such was the mode jn which we were ourselves packed on the day on which I started from Tarbert. When the horses got into motion, the crowd bf beggars by whom' we had been surrounded divided in front, and those who were nimble of foot ran along by the side of us for some dis tance. One ran off in front of us like an avant cowrrier, and continued to do so for nearly two miles. When he saw that all the others hail dropped off, he came to the side of the car, and received a few pence as a reward for his perse verance.' Though our view was confined to one side of the road, I saw enough to amuse and instruct me. ' In ohe village we saw the national process of house-building. A house of some Jength had fallen in, probably without any volcanic agency, but simply by the effect of its own weight, and the proprietor was repairing the injury sustained by his mansion ; but being either too poor or too indolent to re-establish the tenement in its former extent, he had contented himself with cutting away as much of the broken wall as was neces sary to make it smooth, and was running up a new wall at the place where the old one remain ed. In this way, he was abandoning one half of his old house, and was about to reduce his family, his pigs, his dogs, and his poultry, to one half of their previous accommodation. The manner of building the wall, too, was character istic. The father brought the mould to the spot in a wheelbarrow, the eldest son with a shovel fashioned the material into the shape of a wall, and a younger boy stood upon the top to stamp - it into something like consistency. A pair of swallows would have expended more care and skill upon the construction of their nest. All the people I met with spoke English, though Kerry is considered to be one of the counties where the Irish language has been best preserved. Only in very out-of-the-way places, they told me, would I find people that understood no English. Of this T had seen instances in CJare, where children would run by the side of tne car, crying " Burnocks, halfpenny !" " Bur- nocks" being an appellation applied to every stranger, and "halfpenny" the only English word that the little rogues seemed to know., "Our English," said one Kerry farmer to me, " is a sort of home-English. We don't leaTn it correctly. But we have high-bred men among us, even among the farmers, and some of the shepherds among the mountains know as much Latin as so many priests." IRELAND. 33 J had heard a good deal of these Kerry schol ars, and was arixious to satisfy myself; by the evidence of my own senses, of the extent t'o which their scholarship was carried. I heard everywhere a great deal of shepherds and la bourers who could read and speak Latin; but the only instances in which I was able to come into contact with any of these learned person ages, were not calculated to' impress me with much respect for the extent of their classical lore. On two occasibns 1 Saw a few men who told me they understood Latin, but when I came to examine them more closely, I found they knew nothing beyond a few sentences that they had retained "from the Missal. One young peas ant I found, who really knew something of the classics, and was tolerably well acquainted with Horace ; he. told me, however, he had been brought up for a priest, but, not liking thd church, had returned to the plough on his father's farm. I met subsequently a young man whose story was nearly the same, and I am, therefore, dis posed to believe, that Kerry scholarship, where it really exists, is always more or less connected with the church, and that, at all events, these mountain peasants have no notion of studying Latin with a view to anything like aesthetic en joyment. " It's not even English they can speak," said my neighbour on the car. In the western parts of Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, to say of people' that they cannot even speak English, is intended to mark the extreme barbarism in which they live. The English lan guage is the only medium of cultivation, and all ¦endeavour to learn it, as without it they are quite helpless the moment they leave their native hills. In the same way the French express their con tempt for the Basques among the Pyrenees, and for the Germans among the Vosges, by saying that they cannot even speak French; and so, in Bohemia, Galicia, Courland, and Livonia, the knowledge of German is deemed inseparable from even a rude education. I had an opportunity, by the road-side, of see ing a genuine Irish hedge school, and truly an interesting and affecting spectacle it was. The school-house was a clay cabin, roofed with sods, and without so much as a window. The small er of the ragged scholars sat as close as they could to the entrance, towards which they turn ed their books to catch as much as possible of the light from without. Some were lying on the ground, behind these were a few. seated on a board, and behind these were the taller boys, leaning over those in front, likewise to catch the light. The teacher was seated in the mid dle of the group, and was clad in what I have already described as the national costume of the country. In a book of Irish sketches this picture would have been invaluable, and I was sorry I had not a daguerreotype apparatus with me, to perpetuate the impression. In front of the school-house lay as many pieces of turf as there were students within, each boy having brought one as a tribute to his teacher. As I entered through the narrow entrance, the dominie rose from an inverted butter-cask, on which he had sat enthroned. " Indeed, I am very sorry, your honour," said he, " that I have not the. opportunity of offering you a chair." He was teaching his pupils the English alpha bet, and they all looked fresh and cheerful, not withstanding their poverty, as indeed most Irish children do, in the country at least, despite of their ragged attire and their scanty food. C Both children and teacher lived some miles away from the school-house, which stood by the side of the road. When the hours of study are over, the boys thrust their spel)ing-books into their pockets, and the master, after having fas tened the door of his college, collects the tribu tary turf into a sack; throws the burthen over his shoulder, and having . grasped his staff, trudges away to his cabin on the other side of the bog. Our diligence car was not (o carry us farther than Listowel, and I was obliged to look out for some other conveyance to Tralee, where I pro posed to sleep. Some gentlemen who had been piy fellow-passengers thus far, and who, like myself, were on a pilgrimage to the far-famed beauties of Killarney, joined me in the hire of a one-horse car. We were standing at the door of our inn, in expectation of our equipage. Some of us had been smoking and threw the ends into the street. Two of the pdor that were loitering about, rushed forward to- fight and scramble for the prize,, and each carried away a portion of the booty, carefully concealed among his rags. " These are all temperance men," said our host, "and very strict ones too. Indeed they're all very strict in this part of the country, and there are very few here who have broken their pledge." My host went on to speak of Father Mathew as an old acquaintance, and told us many anecdotes about him. Among other things, he told us that the apostle of temperance, when young, had been expelled from his college, on the ground of ha bitual drunkenness, the whiskey bottle having several times been found concealed about his bed. The anecdote, if true, is not, in my opinion, at all to Father Mathew's'discredit. We had got but a short way from Listowel, when there happened to us an 'accident which, harnessed as they are, is by no means an un common one for Irish cars to meet with. Our- merry driver, to show the mettle of his horse, began to stimulate him to increased speed. The gallant courser, however, disapproving of the manner of Paddy's persuasion, began to kick, and then fairly ran away with us: As he was going the right way, we, at first, reconciled our selves to the rapidity of his pace, but in a little while, the girth, on which the whole economy of these primitive vehicles generally depends, gave way, and the car, aceording-to its usual practice on such occasions, tipped over, and deposited us and our baggage in the high road. It was the first time it had happened to me to be over turned in a carriage, and it was of some interest to me to follow the course of my thought's, which succeeded each other with the rapidity of light ning. When I became perfectly conscious ol what had happened, and while the shaft of the car was still describing its semicircle in the air, I thought to myself, " This may be a serious ac cident. The car and all the luggage may fall or my head, and put an end at once to all my ob servations on Irish peculiarities. If I come off with a bruise or two, or a broken finger," how thankful I ought to be." When, however, we all got upon our legs again, and found we were, none of us hurt, though all well bedaubed with mud, and with a rent here and there in our gar ments, all our gratitude to Providence seemed to be gone, and to have given way to a general feeling of indignation against the clumsiness of our driver. Such is man. Fainthearted in the hour of need, and ready to make any compact with Providence; but in trosperity insolent, and 34 IRELAND. grumbling against Fate at the most trifling an noyance. We leit our baggage under guard, and pro ceeded on foot, while the driver went in search of cords and thongs to repair the consequences of his awkwardness. A little, way from Listowel the country will repay a pedestrian, but farther on, let no man trust to the treacherous shadpw- ings which he may discover on his map. All these beautiful linings, intended to mark hills and mountains, are extremely inviting, and in Germany keep the promise- they hold out, by de lighting the^wanderer with the most romantic and picturesque landscapes. This, in Ireland, is not, by any means, always the case. The mountains we were now passing were naked from the base to the summit, and of a gloomy monotonous colour, for they were covered with bog, and so was the lower pant of the country, all the way from the Shannon to Tralee Bay. And yet I saw villages of which the inhabitants were 6omplaining?of a scarcity of turf! In the county of Cork, I was told, the scarcity of turf had already become a subject of general com plaint. TRALEE. It is a pity that the clouds turn their leas) agreeable side towards the earth. Had we that evening contemplated from above, the clouds that looked to us so gray and monotonous, we should ' probably have seen them radiant with light,and diversified with every shade of colour. To us, however, they were one dull, unbroken gray, and glad enough we were, as night set in, and this gray was turning into black, to arrive in Tralee, where a fine blazing fire indemnified us for the unfriendly evening. Our supper consisted of chickens, bacon, ham,. roast beef, Chester cheese, and celery, with po tatoes and cabbage sodden in water, and I had scarcely expected, in so remote a place, to have found these various dishes so excellently pre pared. There were four of us, and; our conver sation was of the kind which generally passes on such occasions, in the Bril'sh islands, be tween persons whose acquaintance tvith each other is slight and of recent dale. " May I trou ble you for a bit of beef?" " Will you allow me to send you a piece of chicken ? Haveyou any choice as to tne wing or the breast?" "May I have the honour of taking, a glass of -wine with you?" "I shall be very happy." "I'll trouble you for a potato." " Will you take any more ¦?" This was the sort of cross-fire of civil speeches that was kept up through supper time, and though it sounds pretti|yenough When heard for the first time,- it becomes insufferably tedious and absurd after frequent repetition. " Opposite to our inn lay a house, in which, for that evening, a dramatic performance had been announced. The play was to be the "Two Murderers,"'but it was not this awful title that tempted me so much, as the title of one of the dramatis persona?, Herr von Sourcrouthagen, a German baron, out of compliment to whom I determined to see the!play. To my disappoint ment, however, there was very little caricature about the baron, who,' on the contrary, was only an insipid imitation of what a- German baron might very well have been. I stopped- only for one act, but I stopped long enough to add an other picture tomy gallery of Irish rags. Even on the stage, I found, the national costume was adhered to. Several of the actors had .visible rents in their garments. I can scarcely believe that in any other country the same thing would have been seep, among the lowest strollers spout ing in a barn. An English fire, however, consoles one for al most every disapppintment, and soon makes one forget bad weather, insipid conversation, and dull plays. I seated myself by the side of the familiar flame, and taking tbe map of Ireland into my hand, amused myself for a lppg time by examining and speculating on the eccentric out line of the sou ih- western coast. THE LAKES OF KILLARNEY. I never beheld the golden stars of heaven with less pleasure than when, on the following morn ing, I stood alone in the street of Tralee, ready equipped, for my journey, and waiting for the maii coach which was to pick me up, as the Eng lish say, and take me on to Killarney. At length I looked at my watch, and found^to my inde scribable vexation, that the merciless waiter had driven me out of my bed at four, instead of six o'clock. There was now, however, no help for it, and I therefore left my luggage at the office of the coach, ahd set out on foot on the road by which dt was to pass., It was a beautiful clear Oclober morning, and I soon, became reconciled to my lonely walk through the county of Kerry, in no plljer company than that of the thousands. of beautiful worlds which looked so kindly down upon me. It is a cpmmon notion that these hours before the morning dawn, when people are mostly burjed in profound sleep, are particularly chosen by robbers for the exercise of their profession.. But in Ireland, common as murders ahd acts of personal outrage may !>e, the wanderer has sel dom much to fear. The Irish are a restless,. mutinous, but not, a dishonest people. The Crimes they cpmmj,t are seldom connected, with robbery, but arise out of quarrels and affronts, and are, mostly occasioned by revenge and ha tred, rather than by a desire for plunder. Inglis, in his work on Ireland, states that out of 19$ criminal cases presented by the calendar of Kerry for one quarter of a year, only ten were of theft, but seventy-four of riotous assemblies, thirty-four of rescue, or resistance to lawful au thority, and forty-seven of personal assaults £. and yet we must not forget, that the county of Kerry belongs to what, the English call.'theleast disturbpddistricts, sp, mat itis easy to, see what kind of offences are really commqn in Ireland. I ..had walked a considerable' time without! having any idea of the appearance of the land scape around, me, apij as the sun rose, it ass,umejd the appearance of a great sea, with islands and the peaks of black mountains rising out of it. The whole plain was covered, with a thickwhite fog, from which only the hill tops remained free, and as the mail coach, after overtaking me,, worked its way very rapidly through the mist to Killarney, verv much as the Russian peasants cut their way through the snow, I can, give little accountof the scenery we passed until we reach ed this renowned spot, the goal of sp many of the wanderers through "Erin's isle." Thomas Moore's poems have certainly con tributed not a little to the celebrity of many parts of Ireland, as well as the patriotic efforts of ihe Irish Penny Magazine, and the English view- hunters, always on the look opt for something new. IRELAND. 35 Formerly only the. higher an,d wealthier class es pf the English travelled, and the.se being usually indifferept to what was to be found at home, took their way towards the, celebrated points of foreign countries. Now, hOwever, the CQnstanfly increasing love, and indeed, mania for travelling, and the increased facility, of, com munication, nave set in motion also the inferior classes of society, and thqse who; were once, like the gleba adscripti, roqted to the, soil, or who made journeys only when compelled by business, now .run about ip search of the, picturesque, apd the beauty of certain spots, formerly known only to their nearest neighbours, is now dis cussed, criticised,, and praised, to. the skies, By-tbiSigeiierally awakened; desire for travel ling a number of other desires and interests have, been, at the same time, called intp aGtiop. Mon ey is brought into ;circularjon, and, .innkeepers, coachmen, and others, find thejr account in if. These people, who for,rnerly hardly kpe.w ,t^e. difference between an , Irish bog and, an Alpine valley, speak now, familiarly of the charms apd attrafitipns of this or that district, and find, now here, now there, a perfect Paradise. ' Ii|.orderto attract travellers to their neighbourhood, tl\%y get magnificent descriptions written, and., often. published in journals and elsewhere, and th.rjs! promote their private interests while they gratify their national pride. Patriotism, too,, which for merly occupied itself only with the political t'p-, Mitutipns, the great men, and the sqcial advan- jages of the country, now extends itself also to, its natural beaut|es,.and it copies afcjast tobeje-, jrarded as, a kind of barbarism not to have, seen- certain .places which have acquired in thjs way a high reputation. " Have you been tq; the lakes 1" is. a question ttyat meets the . traveller, in England;, Scotland, and Ireland. In the first,, " the lakes", meap^hej fakes of Westpioreland and Cumberland; in ScVdapd, LQch-Lpmpnd, apd.its neighbours are, meant; but in Ireland. the expression invariably, designates, the Jakes ,pf ft jllarney. The towniof Killarney, like Tralee and most of, the other little towns of (he sputh.of Ireland,,^, prettily built, and has an, air. of hpyelty, the, grpaterpart of it being, in fact, little more than, thirty years old. Before that time.it is said to have been a wretched place. It boasts, many ex-, cellent inns, tv,here for "mpn^y and fair words," one may get all ppssible accommodation for viewing, the, lakes andtb^surrpunding country. I arrived fbere .exactly at breakfast time, and joined company with an English officer, whq was also about to visit tb,e.la,kes;, having obtain ed leave -of absence ^rpm hi,s quarters— some-, ¦where Qn,,the'S,hannon-r-fpr the express pur pose of seeing the Paradise of Killarney. The lakes lie in a crescent around .the. fopt of the, highest group of mountains in Kerry, called Macgillieuddy's Reeks, and are divided jnto two principal op.es, the lower and the upper lake,, The, town lies. on the former, which is the.larger of the two. In order to vary the journey, and see as much as, possible of the country, it is customary tpbire at, the same tirpe,ta carriage,, a boat, and a pair, of saddle horses. The boat, is then sent oo to wait for the traveller' at a little harbour' on the upper lake the horses, are also sept. forward to the Gap of Dunloe, a.mpuntain pa?s in Macgil lieuddy's Reeks, which he reaches after driving in the carriage, rpundrthe lower lake, and a few miles beyond. At this ravine he mounts a horse to ride over the.niountauis,, and clambering doiyn on the pther, side, reaches the extreme point of the upper lake, where entering his bpat, he rows through the two lakesback to the) point ihe started from. From Killarney, which lies qU the low shore, , one .'sees the mpuhtains.pp the other, sjde rising like a dark wall,: and reflected, in. the ,c|ear lake that lies likea mirror at their,fept ; , and the pros pect was .beautiful when. a glipipse of it could ¦ be caught through, the Walls, palings, and hedg-, ies, that .aJipost shut , it put. Near the; town, .alopgthe lake,, runs the hippodrome, pr race .course of Killarney, ,fpr even, such srpall places as this must in Irelau^ haye their race course, !lnthe villages we passed , through, we again saw the, little frish boys rupning.tp school,, each. Wltnhis.sjate an.^, book; under one arm, and his, sod of; turf, for the..sehppim,aster under ihe pther. 'The ravjpe, w.here ;'we ifouno', our, fiprses, had no remarkable feature topistinguishit from many others in Scotland, anil .Wales, Macgjlliepd- dy's Reeks — sp'"caj|ed, itjs.sajd, frqnva great Irish ,lap,dpw,ner, whose ppssessions .were s;p, ex tensive, that these mpuptains were; but asreeks or hay-ricks (o' those, of other men, are.npf,more than 34Q4 feet, high, although the, lqftiest in. Ire land^ 'the highest points in Scotland are more than 100,0 feet above them. As'we trotted. thrpugh the pass, we cqphl not, avoid, envying a pair of .eagles, which were hovering, high in air over our heads, although we were very well mounted on stout, sagacious, apd active little Iterry horses. Their caparison ,|s the most wretched I ever saw, consisting of nothing mare tjiah, .straw plaited together. Straw .is indeed much jn use throflghouf Ireland for various purr poses— they take the pigs,to rnark,et for, instance wjth a wisp of s^vv round, the leg;, in other Countries top straw is, spmetimes twisted into the shape pfa rope, but a, [torse with bridle and har- pessallof straw is a sight tp be seep'nowhere but in (his poorest part of the, west of Ireland. Beit, remembered also, this was not a,mere make shift or, the whim pfan individual, but , a general custom. Tlie.roeks, on, either, side of the pass, arpse.to a height of at least 1500 feet, and ,it was ^fiout ten miles long,, and presented jn its various windings many wildly picturesque points. This wildness of effect is not ar little.increased by the darkcolpur of the bog stpff, which covers even the highest points of the rocks, and mountains. Not, only dp large masses of it lie pri4heir broad surfaces and rounded promontories, hut every little projection,, every little clunk and crevice, even'of an ajuiost perpendicular wall of rpclr, is filled and oyergroivn by it. I would not believe this until I had myself climbed manypf the rocks to ascertain it, .apd.even taken opt pieces of the turf which pad, assumed the exact forrh of the' 'rocky clefts they, had filled. It is as if the bog stuff had been, floating in the atmosphere, and had. been precipitated upon the, rocks, or.as. if it- had been, poured over them like sauce, and after running into and, filHpg all the holes and crevi ces, had flowed down in,to the valleys. The country, people who accompanied us. on our tour, informed-us that on the northern side of the "Reeks" this substance was found" in much larger masses than on, the south, and that theywerein the habit pfgoingup the, mountains ' to cut their turf,. Sometimes it has happened that large beds of, turf have got into motion, and slipped downwards, ahd in many places it is 36 IRELAND. evident that their movements have been stopped by boldly projecting points of rock. Sometimes it appears as if the bog had not so mucHsfipped, as run down the rocks' while in a liquid state, leaving long.black streaks from the top to the' bottom, and a curious effect is often produced by spots and streaks of bright white in immediate contact with them. On examination I found these to consist of a kind of while moss whicb grows near the turf. The principal inhabitants of these rocks are a few herdsmen and their goats, who have con stantly to dispute the ground with their enemies, the eagles and foxes. The wolf is said to have inhabited these wild regions longer than any other part of the British islands, the last Irish wolf having been shot in the year 1700, in Mac- gillicuddy's Reeks, whereas the last was de stroyed in Scotland in 1680, and none have been seen in England since 1300, when, in the time of Edward I. many were killed in Yorkshire. Per haps the gradual extinction of those fierce an imals may serve as a standard to measure the progress of civilization in the three countries. The goats are by no, means carefully tended by the herdsmen, who indeed seldom look after them much, except once a year, when they col lect the herds, take such as are fit for the mar ket, and set the rest at liberty again. They gen erally calculate that ten out of every fifty will be destroyed by the eagles and foxes, or perish in some way or other among the mountains. A little river rushes through the Gap of Dun- loe over the rocks,and in the middle of the val ley several small lakes, of a most remarkable appearance, are formed: namely, the water has the peculiar property of staining all the groupd it flows over of a deep black colour, so that now, in the beginning of October, when the waters after an unusually dry season were very low, the black rocky hollow, on the edge of which we were riding, had exactly the appearance of a gi gantic inkstand half empty. Had there been at the bottom, among the rugged masses of black rock, some smoke and flame instead of water, we might have imagined we were looking into the dark entrance to the infernal regions. The Irish have named all this part of the pass, with good reason, the " Dark valley." In many of the rocky clefts we noticed heaps of turf made up ready for the winter, and they are often repositories tor the illicit stills used for making the whiskey, known by the name of "mountain dew," for which Kerry is renowned throughout Ireland. The name would have been better suited to the fine rich goats' milk. that we ;pt in a little hut in the neighbourhood of the akes, at the foot of the rocky ridge that crosses the middle of the pass. The snow lies on these mountains till the end of Ajpril, and sometimes even as late as the middle of May, but neither the great lakes of Killarney, nor the small lakes in the Gap of Dunloe, ever freeze. From the rocky ridge above mentioned we looked info another valley, still more romantic, wild, and desolate, than the one we had passed. It also contained lakes of black water, and far and wide nothing was to be seen but huge craggy rocks and bogs. Here and there lay lonely little huts distinguishable by the blue smoke rising from them ; but, alas, no fields, trees, or gardens lay round them. In all these wild glens the people speak only the Irish or Erse language. The effect of the lakes of Killarney, with their banks of soft meadow land and the rich fringe of I trees scattered over them, is greatly increased by their lying in the midst of this rocky wilder ness. They are also sprinkled over with a num ber of little grassy and wooded islands, and pen insulas running out far from the main land into the bbsom of the lakes, and forming a never- ending variety of straits, bays, and harbours of fairy proportions. Ort many of these, wealthy amateurs, delighted with the fantastic and soli tary character of the place, have built ornament-' al cottages, and thrown picturesque bridges over inlets of the lake. The whole crescent of' the lakes, from one end to the other, is not more than about nine miles long, and forms undoubt edly one of the most varied and agreeable excur sions one can take. The water appears, when looked into, of a dark golden brown colour, but as clear as crystal, so that one can see to a great depth beneath it. When taken up in a glass, it shows no colour. We had a crew of six .row ers to our boat, for in Ireland there are always six pair of arms used where two would Suffice. In reading some of the exaggerated English descriptions of 'the lakes of Killarney, one might fancy them to be really something supernatural. A well-known Irish writer (Wakefield,) for in stance, expresses himself concerning them' in the following manner: "Nature here puts on the wildest and most terrific attire to astonish the gazing spectator, who, lost in wonder and surprise, thinks that he treads on enchanted ground,; and whilst he scarcely knows to whieh side to direct his attention, can hardly believe that the scenes before him are not the effects of delusion, or the airy phantoms of the brain, call ed into momentary existence by the creative power of a fervid imagination." This is a rare specimen of bombastic nonsense, and if all this is to be said of the lakes of Killarney, what are we to say of others that much exceed them in beauty. Nature is, indeed, almost everywhere more beautiful and attractive than any language can adequately describe ; but when we do at tempt the description of a country, and of the charms of a particular spot, we must speak by- comparison with other places, and not forget the infinite number of lovely spots of earth to which we might do injustice by our immoderate praise of One. Besides, these vague generali ties Of "enchantments" and "delusions," and " airy phantoms," and " creative imaginations," really describe nothing at all. The realities of stone and wood and earth, which we meet with in nature, are beautiful enough — we do not need to try and lift them into the, realms of phantas magoria, but should do much better, if we would try and give fhe distant reader spme idea of what has excited our admiration, by a faithful representation of the individual features of the scene, often by no means an easy task. Along the upper lake lies a range of small rocky islets, all surrounded, as well as the shores, with a black stripe, about four or five feet broad, pointing out what has been the height of the water in the summer. Immediately above the black stripe, and in sharpest contrast with it' comes a streak of white, of the moss I have al ready mentioned in speaking of the Gap of Dun loe, and over this again another of yellow furze, which seems to flourish amazingly in these boggy grounds. Above all comes the beautiful foliage of the arbutus and the oak, the former making, indeed, one of the especial attractions of Killarney. These beautiful shrubs are nowhere so numer- IRELAND. 37 ous and flourishing as on the lakes and islands of Killarney, and the finest specimens may be seen shooting up among the rocks. The au tumn is said to be the most favourable season for viewing them, on account of the endless va riety of colours then exhibited by the leaves, and as besides the advantage of this season I had that of fine weather, an uncommon one at Killarney, where it almost always rains, I cer tainly had reason to consider myself fortunate. Many of the islands are covered only with weeds and bog, and cannot for a moment be compared with the Isola Madre, Isola Bella, or others in the Italian lakes. Amongst the bold promontories of the Glenna mountain, which project in lofty and command ing forms upon the lake, is one more steep aad apparently inaccessible than the rest, called the Eagle's rock, because a pair of eagles have for many years had a nest upon its summit. The people of the country, however, contrive to rob the poor birds every year of their young, and sell them to this or that nobleman, who gener ally pays four or five pounds for the stolen goods, In the spac'e of two or three miles, we are told, there were known to be five eagles' nests. A regular trade is carried on in the young birds, who are sent to England. Between the 15th of June and the 1st of July, they are old enough to be brought up by the hand, and this, therefore, is the time when the robberies begin. The rocks on which the nests are built, are usually so steep and dangerous, that they can only be reached by ropes from above; The people ¦watch for the departure of the old birds, who fly away at regular hours in search of food. The men are then let down, in baskets, to de prive the feathery parents of the objects of their tender care. It happens sometimes, however, that the business is not accomplished before the birds return, and then a desperate conflict takes place with the spoilers; who come provided for such a contingency with an old sabre or a pis tol. For twenty years, our boatmen informed us, they had regularly robbed the nest on the Eagle's rock, and for twenty years the same birds had regularly returned and laid and hatched their eggs there. They are the oldest birds in the ¦whole district, and can be distinguished by the paler colour of their feathers. ' Generally for a week after they have been deprived of their off spring, the bereaved parents hover screaming round the empty nest, but they never seem to grow wiser by experience, or to seek for their progeny some better asylum from the ruthless rapacity of man. The men all agreed that ¦whenever a tamed eagle escaped and returned to its native rocks it was sure to be attacked and torn to pieces by the wild ones. Through a narrow channel, along which the water rushed with great rapidity, overshadowed by beautiful trees, and spanned by the half-de cayed arches of an ancient bridge, we entered, after some hours rowing, the Turk Lake, land ing here and there to view some fine trees or try a remarkable echo, and then passed through an other narrow strait into the large lake, on one of whose grassy banks under an old arbutus tree, we spread our noonday meal. The cold meat, the ale, and the mountain dew were fully appreciated by me and my companion, but our six rowers, though they accepted thankfully the food, seriously and resolutely declined both the ale and the spirits, asserting that they were all temperance men. We tried to overcome their objections to the ale, as it had been very cold on the water, and We thought it would do them good, but they remained firm, said it was " no temptation at all," and that they would rather drink water. The officer and I really felt asha med of our self-indulgence in the presence of these abstinent people, and consumed a much smaller quantity of the " alcoholic drinks" than we should have done but for, the reproving ex ample before us. My friend had witnessed many Of the beneficial effects of temperance in the army, and maintained that the Irish soldiers had become much improved in their discipline, and the crimes and punishments in his regiment had diminished more than one half, since Father Mathew's reform. In the "old drinking time" he had had every day some trouble and vexa- .tion in the barracks, but now he could enjoy his fourteen days' furlough without being harassed by anxieties about the behaviour of his men. The stories of eagles, with which we had been entertained on the Upper Lake, were exchanged, when we entered the lower one, for traditions of a certain renowned O'Donaghue, once a power ful knight or king, who lived ages ago, in a beau tiful castle on its shores. His castle lies in ru ins, but the fame of his deeds still lives in the memories of the people; and in the fantastic va riety of forms assumed by the rocks and crags, they fancy they can still .find traces of his. do mestic life. One rock goes by the name of O'Donaghue's pigeon-house ; another, a cavern, now almost filled with the omnipresent bog stuff, is called O'Donaghue's prison; but the most cu rious of all is O'Donaghue's library, which pre sents a number of thin, narrow, rocky shelves, with torn scattered fragments lying on them, that really have some resemblance to confused heaps of books. " Even the Holy Bible lies there at the top," said one of our rowers, pointing to a thick stone shaped very much like a large book, and " that's his Lexicon" said another, "and a number of hard words there is in it." On a fine morning, before the first rays of the sun have begun to scatter the night fogs from the bosom of the lake, O'Donaghue himself, I was told, comes riding over it on a beautiful snow-white horse, to look after his household business, while fairies hover before him, and strew his path with flowers. As he approaches, everything returns to its former state of magnifi cence, and his castle, his library, his prison, and his pigeon-house, are restored to a perfect state. Whoever has courage to follow him over the lake, can cross even the deepest parts dry-shod, and may ride with him into the opposite mount ains, where his treasures are concealed, and from which, in such a case, the daring visiter may expect a liberal present ; but before the sun has risen, O'Donaghue again crosses the water, and vanishes amidst the ruins of his castle. The most interesting of the islands of this large lake is that which bears the name of Innis- fallen. It is also the largest of all, and is over grown with the finest old trees, which lie in scattered groups as in a park, and the wide spa ces between them afford the finest pasturage for cows and sheep. Many of the trees are oaks, but the greater number are- magnificent old ash trees, and I also saw here a. holly tree, older and larger than any I had ever seen in my life. It was twelve feet in circumference, and had gigan tic far-spreading branches, like an oak. I could not help comparing it mentally with the little, 38 IRELAND. wretched, stunted hollies, thatdrag on a sickly existence in the Jardjn des Plantes, in Paris, where every care is taken of them. One of the mighty ash trees- had been torn up by the roots inastorm of thepreceding Winter, and had car ried with1 it a mass of rock, twenty feet in cir cumference, round which its roots had entwined themselves, and which, as it lay prostrate, it still held firmly clasped. There are also the ruins of an ancient abbey, and many beautiful thickets of evergreens, on this island, which Thomas Moore has remembered in his iines : *' Sweet Innisfallen, fire 'thee well, May calm and Sunshine long be thine, How fair thou art let others tell, "While but to- feel how fair be mine." After rowing about fourteen miles, we landed at length by the ruins of Ross Castle, which lie, not far from Killarney, immediately on the shores of the lake, and from whose wall one enjoys a delightful prospect of the lakes and their islands, The ruined walls are overgrown with ivy, and the vast proportions of the old hall-chimney hv dicate the huge size of the logs that formerly ~ held the place of coals at an Englishman's fire side. FROM. KILLARNEY TO BANTRY. The visiters of Killarney are accustomed to take six or eight days to enjoy at leisure all the beauties of the neighbourhood; to visit the ruins of several castles, climb the high mountains of Mangerton, and dip their finger's into the little lake of perpetually ice-cold water, called the Devil's Punch-bowl. So detailed a study of the spot.however, hard ly suited the plans of one whointended.to make the tour of Europe, and I therefore left Killar ney the next morning, to proceed to Cork, by the way of Kenmare and Bantry; but as the mail-car went at rather a lale hour, I left my luggage, and preceded it on foot, that I might have an opportunity of visiting the ruins of Mu- cruss Abbey, which lie on one side of the road. They are surrounded by stately old trees, and a beautiful park, belonging to a wealthy proprie tor, whose name I' forget, and may be cited as an example of what I have said, concerning the picturesque situationof Irish ruins. The walls are still tolerably high, and here and there thick ly covered with ivy. In the midst of the inner court of the cloisters stood1 the finest and most handsome Irish yew-tree I had ever seen. Its fan-like branches overshadowed the entire court, and rested on the margin of the ruined walls. Another court, and the chapel of the abbey, like most'eccleslastical ruins in this country, are fill ed with the monuments of the dead. I saw in scribed' on some of these the names of Macarthy, O'Donaghue, and of other once powerful fam ilies; but my cicerone— an old woman clothed in rags— informed me that the remains of the kings of the country rested beneath them. Nev er have I beheld a more exquisite little picture than these ruins made, and had a Ruisdael painted them just as they lay before me, he would certainly have; produced a worthy com panion to his celebrated Churchyard! The in terior of the chapel, and the high arched gate ways, were draperied with ivy, but the roof was entirely gone, and the bright sunlight every where broke through the waving' branches of the luxuriant trees. At length the mail-car arrived, and carried me away from Mucruss Abbey. Mangerton lay high and clear before us, and from its Sum mit arose a little1 cloud like a pillar "of smoke. " That- looks as if the Devil was brewing his mornipg drink- in his punch-bowl," said our dri ver, as he helped me up. ' " He don't belong to our' temperance society, for he's got a bowl for his punch that would shame all the teapots in Ireland put together." The first part of our journey was but a rep etition of that of yesterday, for the road ran close along the margin of the lake, although the points of view were certainly somewhat varied: afterwards, however, it began to wind in and Out by a>new way through the Turk mountain. This fine new road, through one of the wildest and most desolate regions of western Ireland, where, for a thousand years of more, people had been content to cross the mountain on horses with straw bridles, is evidently not the work of the wretched Celtic inhabitants of the district, although they are not insensible to its advanta ges. These roads are some pf the benefits which Ireland reaps from the English. From these improved roads have arisen other imbrOye- ments, which the Irish will probably hardly feel disposed, to regard as such — namely, the new police stations, which are always erected ubon. them. These roads' may, in fact, be considered in something like the same light as the patrol roads made by the Austrians through the half- barbarous countries of their military frontier. We visited- the police station that lay on our way, and found" it a new, handsome, spacious building, that at a distance looked like a little castle. It lay on a high commanding part of the mountain, and , beyond it the road began. again to -descend. Far around, the country had an air of romantic desolation that again remind ed me of the military stations ori the Austrian frontier, which are frequently placed on most picturesque spots in the wilderness. The house contained'eight policemen of.the constabulary force — an armed force now distributed over all Ireland for the prevention of crime, the discov ery and seizure of criminals, the protection of property, and the preservation of the public peace. It consists of eight thousand men, dis ciplined like soldiers; commanded by district .in spectors, provincial inspectors, and inspectors- general; and distribuled over the country in small parties of from five to eight men. Their uniform is much plainer and darker than that of the military,, but they are armed with muskets and sabres^ and are allowed to make use of the bayonet as a dagger. This po lice force, therefore, is. but a- military garrison under another name, and since the finest and . strongest men,, and- those of the most unblem ished character, are selected for the service, and sent into every corner Of the country to form the most intimate acquaintance with its inhabitants, there is no doubt that in case of a war or a re bellion, it would be worth more than an army of thirty thousand men. The sergeant who' commanded at this post informed me that his district embraced an im mense extent of naked mountains, and did not contain more thart two hundred and twenty in habitants, for whom eight armed policemea seemed a large proportion. And yfet the county of Kerry is reckoned one of the least disturbed parts of Ireland. The pbor mountaineers ure not quarrelsome or refractory, and although they have the most violent party man of their coun- IRELAND. 39 *ry, Daniel O'Connell, in the midst of them, they have fewer party fights than the people of almost any Other counfy in Ireland. The most disturbed county of all Ireland, as •is well known, is Tipperary, where there is a police station at every three or four miles, These men, who are very well paid, are as often Irish as English, or indeed, as far as I have seen, more frequently the former. There are also many Irishmen amongst the police of Lon don, for the English are often somewhat averse to this service. When one hears in Ireland of disturbed coun ties, one fancies at first there must have been lately a rebellion in the country. Not at all- To be disturbed, is the regular and habitual condi tion Of this' unfortunate country. Riots, party1 -lights, murders from revenge, are more or less the order of the day ; it is a state of things we have no idea of, in which a whole population is -engaged in a general conspiracy, and at every moment prepared for rebellion. Every fifty years or so, these discontents break out into a bloody insurrection. This I am told has been the ordinary condition of Ireland, -ever since its conquest by the English — a condi tion to which I believe the whole history of modern civilized Europe can afford no parallel. As far as' our eyes could reach over the hills and valleys of Kerry, they presented nothing but a, naked and desolate rocky waste, of a. uniform dull gray. No tree was to be seen, but here and •there a crippled birch. Small lakes of dark • ¦water, with, perfectly barren shores, Jay scattered over this mountainous waste, and occasionally a: little variety was afforded by a stretch of heath, tinged with a reddish colour ; and a patch of green potatoes, round a ,cabjn from which smoke was rising, showed here and there like an flasis in the desert. This is the general charac ter of the scenery over the whole of the western districts of Ireland and Scotland. l In the midst of, this wilderness, the road branches off towards the residence of the most ; conspicuous. man in Ireland, to Derrynane Abi bey, the seat of Daniel O'Connell, It lies at the extreme point of a peninsula jutting out into the Atlantic Ocean. About the neighbouring coun try lie the seats of his sons, and various connex ions; and some miles farther the village of Ca- hirciveen, the place of his birth. The O'Con- nells are an old Irish race,- and many of theul are still possessed of considerable landed proper ty; but the branch from which Daniel sprung -were originally poor, and hold their estates only as middlemen from the great head landlords, Derrynane is one of the many Abbeys in Ireland; which, since the time of Henry VIII. and Crom well, have either been turned into family man1 sions, or have fallen into ruins. The hospitality of O'Connell is celebrated over the whole coun try, and his seat, when he resides there, is the rendezvous of many strangers. Even his ene mies have sometimes been compelled to ac knowledge his courtesy in this respect. This happened recently, to some ladies and gentle men, belonging to a well-known high Tory fam ily, who, travelling Jate one autumn evening along a cross rbid, in the vicinity of Derrynane Abbey, had the misfortune to break their car riage. The damage done to it was so great that the servants declared it was impossible to pro1 -ceed; and whilst its previous occupants toiled on, on foot, through wind and rain, towards a house whose lights they had seen at a distance; they were met by persons sent to their assistance by its hospitable qwner, who, had been made aware of the accident. " Our master," they said, " begs that you wi|l do him the honour to make use of his house, as long as it suits your convenience." " We are most thankful to your master for his kindness," answered the way-worn travellers. " May we inquire his name f " Our master is Mr. Daniel O'Connell, and this is Derrynane Abbey 1" came like a clap of thunder upon the party, some of whom had been for thirty years in the habit of bestowing upon " Dab," as they call him, a variety of appellations, of which " regular robber" had been one. of the miidest. Tp the ladies, especially, whp had formed to themselves at a distance, the most frightful rep resentations pf him, the idea of actually meeting him face to face was most formidable. Yet, what was to be donel Behind them lay the broken equipage, ,and the deep, miry roads of Kerry; far and wide not even a hut was to be seen—the fierce November wind roared over from the Atlantic Ocean, the !' Scotch mist'' had already pierced through the Silk mantles of the ladies, and before them lay the refuge of the comfortable " robber's cave.", Hesitating and trembling, they approached the ADD^7i ar)d met the dreaded masterof it standing at the hall-door, prepared to give theoi the most friendly recep tion. They remajned at Derrynane that evening, and the whole of the next day, and were no less astonished than delighted at the amiable man ners of their host. In speaking of the domestic life of O'Connell, he is frequently praised for his anxiety to aVoid the agitating theme of politics in the presence of his gues|s, and in this respect his conduct resem bles that of most political men and beads of par ties in England, who always endeavour to banish the strife of politics from their firesides. In France, on the contrary, it is precisely in the salons, soirees, and family circles that these things are most zealously discussed. The high land along which ourrwad had lain, declined at length near Kenmare, to the level of the shore, and across a wide arm of the sea we obtained a view of the opening to the Atlantic Ocean. " Westward from this point," the Irish say, "there is no land but America!" .and, in fact, the Irish ought to have been the discoverers of it, for, except Iceland, Ireland lies much nearer tp 'hat continent than any European country. These long, narrow peninsulas of Kerry stretch out a degree and a half further than the Spanish promontories, and exactly at this latitude New foundland and Labrador extend towards the east •farther than any land of North America, except the icy shores of Greenland. Had Ireland been peopled by the enterprising Northmen, they wpuld - probably have found their way to the central parts of the American continent as ear ly, as from Iceland and Norway, they did to thlse inhospitable and iron-bound coasts, The Azores lie' near enough to the same lati tude to form a convenient middle station, but the Celts were incapable of following the course of discovery thus pointed out by nature, and it was not till the stream of the Germanic races flowed over their country that they too were borne to the, opposite coasts of the Atlantic Ocean. The Kenmare river, on which lies the little town of the same name, is one of the most re markable in the world. It is a little monster of 40 IRELAND. a river, formed by three or four insignificant brooks only a few miles, in length, that uniting just above the town of Kenmare form a river more than a mile broad, which widens into a breadth of three, four, and five milesj before it falls into the Atlantic. The wonder may, how ever, be explained as a little, anomaly Of Irish geography, which calls that a river that would more properly have been styled Kenmare Bay. The town is the property of the Earl of Ken mare, to whom also belongs the whole town of Killarney. These Irish towns in fact all belong, not to the citizens who inhabit them, but to certain great ianded proprietors. Thus Tralee belongs to the family of Denny, Waterford to the Marquis of Waterford, and even Belfast, a town with 60,000 inhabitants, is the property of one man, the Mar quis of Donegal. At Kenmare we found a suspension bridge, the only one in Ireland. The peninsula ori the opposite side of the river, was, however, jusl as barren and desolate as the one we had just left. Some of the mountains scattered over it are called the Glaneroughi mountains, and one is1 styled the Hungry Hill, an appellation extremely suitable to all the hills of Kerry. On the map are here laid down several rivers, which, al though it was not the time of year when they were likely to be dry, 1 could not discover. Not even one of the little brooks was to be seen, in which our wood^covered German hills are so abounding. The deposits of moisture from the atmosphere remain mostly in the morasses and bogs above described, and the hills and mount ains may be regarded as huge sponges, which suck up the humidity at some seasons and at others become again dry and withered. They contain very few perennial springs. The plant which flourishes most here is the fprze, whose yellow blossoms frequently enliven the dark valleys, and burst from the chinks and crevice's of the rocks. These wild regions have never been better cultivated, or more thickly peopled, than they are at present, nor will probably be so for many years to come. The Irish patriots talk indeed of the beautiful thick forests with which their island was once covered, but the assigned grounds for such a belief appear to me to be only a few uncertain traditions, and occasional expressions of some old writers. Such small islands as Madeira may possibly have been de prived of their timber by wilful waste or acci dent, but a forest as extensive as Ireland could not be obliterated from the face of the earth, by the hand of man, in the course of a few centu ries, even though, as has probably been the case in Ireland, these centuries had passed in cease less discord and contention. Ireland- may indeed have formerly 'had much more wood than it has at present, and the large trunks of trees found in the bogs prove this; but I protest only against the notion that this rocky desert was ever sev ered by the endless beautiful groves I have heard spoken of. Besides the patches of potatoes be fore mentioned, the landscape was here adorned by a not less pleasing feature, namely the new schQol buildings which rose on the waste. Even the road here is entirely new, not having been completed above a year and a half. Extraordi nary difficulties opposed themselves to its forma tion; in many places rocks had to be blasted, and at the highest point a tunnel had to be cut through a mountain; and yet this is by no means the only undertaking of the kind completed; within these few years in Ireland. I had hitherto occupied the entire cushioned bench of the mail car, and I rejoiced when, as we were crossing a mountain, a woman jumped up and placed herself beside me. She was a Sul livan — a name as common in Kerry as that of OBrien in Clare, or Blennerhasset in Tralee. The lower members of the clan are called by the simple name, but the more distinguished mark their superior rank by the addition of O — as O'Sullivan. Another family most widely ex tended in Kerry is that of the McCarthys, and I was informed that there were few people in the county who did not belong to one- or other of the two dans. , The womkn was smoking, and had a lighted piece of turf in her hand, which she said she was going to carry to her husband, who was at work at a little potato field up among the rocks. As I lookedat her once or twice, she took her pipe from her mouth and offered it to me, but, sorry as, I was, I felt compelled to decline the courte sy. Strange, that all the world over so much politeness should be connected with this stinking weed. From the wigwam of the savage to the luxurious apartment of the Turk, or the elegant saloon of Paris, tobacco, in some form or other, meets us everywhere as a token of civility, and the snuff-box handed to a stranger has just the same signification in civilized Europe as the pipe of peace in the hut of the Indian. At the top of the mountain Mrs. Sullivan got down from the car, and began to climb up the rocks with her lighted piece of turf in her hand, by the smoke of which we longdistinguished her path. Wherever an Irishman is found there we are also sure to find potatoes and a smoking turf fire. Through broken and blasted rocks we reached at length the point where the road-makers seem to have wearied of winding in a zigzag direction up the mountain, and to have resolved boldly to- cut their way through it. After entering the tunnel we turned our backs upon Kerry, and issuing forth at its southern ex tremity, we beheld the county of Cork lying be fore us lit by the rays of a brilliant sun. This is the largest county in Ireland, as the stranger hears from almost every one he meets, as long as he remains in it. It contains no less than 1,800,000 acres of land, that is, about nine times as much as Louth, the smallest county. Many parts of it are as wild and uncultivated as the districts I have described in Kerry, and the usual estimate is, that about three-fifths only of the land are under tillage, the remaining two- fifths consisting of unimproved mountain and bog. In Kerry one-half is rock and moorland. The best cultivated county in Ireland is Meath, lying to the west of Dublin, and the most uncul tivated Donegal, in the north, for it contains no less than 650,000 acres of waste land to 560,000 under cultivation. On the whole, rather more than one-fourth of all Ireland maybe considered as waste mountain and bog. On the average, every acre of land in Ireland produces, one with another, a rental of twelve- shillings and nine- pence. In Kerry and Donegal, however, an acre is not worth more than six shillings, that is to say, less than the half of the average value, whilst in the counties near Dublin it brings above twenty shillings — more than three times- the rent of the wild districts. At the very entrance to the county of Cork IRELAND. 41 we come to another celebrated little Paradise— the mountainous district of Glengariff. Here we meet with innumerable cars laden with sea-sand j-roceeding into the interior. It is found very useful to mix with the cold clay and the acrid bog earth; as the Irish say, "the sea-sand cuts up the clay," and without il much of the land now under cultivation would be entirely useless. The fine new roads make the transport of this article much easier than it was formerly, and contribute, therefore, not a little to the improve ment of the agriculture df the country. The sand from Bantry Bay, called "coral sand," is thought especially advantageous. It consists, in a great measure, of broken shells and chalk. The valleys of Glengariff are richly wooded and sprinkled with many pretty country houses, and the bay on which the village lies is as'full of islands as the lakes of Killarney. This is the renowned Bantry Bay, so spacious, so deep, so tranquil, and so well sheltered on all sides, that it is said all the fleets in the world might safely anchor in it. It was in this bay that, towards the close of the last century, the Flench attempted a landing; here that, accord ing to Thomas Moore, the colonists from Spain landed above a thousand years ago; and here, too, in all probability, the Phoenicians first set foot in Ireland, at some unknown period. The prospect from the mountains over these waters is truly charming, and just as much so the road running round the bay, into which sev eral little rivers pour their waters, while several inlets of the sea run far into the land. We crossed" them by bridges overgrown by rich dra peries of ivy, and several small islands were connected with the main land in a similar way. The steep headlands running out into the Sea were often covered with potatoes to their farthest points, and sometimes with turf. In one of the little creeks we found a boat laden with oysters, generally very abundant on the western coasts of Ireland. For sixpence we bought such a quantity that some , of our company overeat themselves, and had to remain, behind, indis posed, at, Bantry. Apropos of oysters, whenever I ate them in Ireland, somebody was sure to tell me a certain story of a man, who, having been advised to eat oysters by way of exciting an ap petite, complained to his doctor that though he eat a hundred every day before dinner he had not noticed that his appetite was a bit better than it used to be. As this anecdote never failed to be told me on such occasions; I suppose I must set it down as a national Irish oyster anecdote. BANTRY, AND A VISIT TO IRISH BEG GARS. The town of Bantry, lying on a little ele gantly-formed hay, curving from the great one, is a very pretty place, and so I have generally found the towns lying immediately on the coast of Ireland. Idleness, disorder, poverty, dirt, decay, and ruin exist to a far greater extent in the interior. There is in the very nature of the sea something essentially fresh, healthy, and animating, that acts, perhaps, with a benefifient influence on those who dwell along its shores. The fisheries of Bantry Bay were formerly celebrated, but now, as of so many other Eu ropean fisheries, we hear that they are no long er so productive as they were, either because the fish has greatly diminished in quantity, or that it has taken another direction. If this branch of industry have declined, however, an other kind of fishing, that for sea-sand, is much on the advance. Formerly there were but few vessels employed in it, but now the number has so much increased that it has been deemed advisable to build a separate quay for them, along which I saw them lying in a long row. The greater activity manifested of late in the improvement and extension of Irish agriculture has given the great impulse tot this branch of trade. Even in this comparatively flourishing place, however, there are beggars and rags enough, as we found to our cost when we entered the fish market, which is a court surrounded by walls. Scarcely had I and my companions en tered this place than we were surrounded by twenty or thirty beggars, who closed the iron gates behind us and declared they would not let us out again till we had purchased our free dom. As we hesitated about complying with a demand made in this style, the fishwomeu came to the rescue and drove away the beg gars, but only to plant themselves before the door and declare that the tribute to be paid be longed of right to them. The town belongs to the Earl of. Bantry, whose son, Lord Berehaven, takes his title from an island lying in the bay. Both these noblemen were absent, although they do not belong to the class of absentees, but usually re side here on their charming domains. We paid a visit to their castle, whioh lies pn the sea, shore at the distance of an agreeable walk, but the housekeeper made at first some difficulty about showing it, as "my lord" was " very particular, and the castle was all papered up." The idea of an entire castle wrapped in paper certainly excited my curiosity, and hav ing found means to overcome the scruples of the housekeeper, we entered, and found, as had been described, everything from top to bottom of the house wrapped in paper — that is, in the great sheets of the Cork Constitutional, the pa per of the largest circulation in this part of Ire land. The chairs and tables, the chandeliers, the walls, the banisters, the door handles, the doors themselves, all were confided to the pro tection of the Cork Constitutional, to preserve them from dust or injury in the absence of the family. Even a metal, figure of St. Patrick, and some antique metal dishes, hanging on the wall near it, were carefully wrapped up. The latter were said to be Spanish, but I could find nothing about them to indicate such an origin. The entire mansion, though of great antiqui ty, wanted nothing of modern elegance and comfort ; the English alone understand how to- make themselves really comfortable in one of these old castles. My companion, a gentleman from London derry with whom I had agreed to join company for the journey through Cork, related to me, in the evening, a remarkable case of temperance that had come under his observation in a ser vant of his own, who, though a quick clever fellow, had formerly been a sad drunkard. He (the master) had tried all means to reform him, had exhorted, threatened, and even promised him rewards for remaining sober, but all had been in vain, and regarding him as quite incor- 42 IRELAND. jigible, he had at last dimissed him. One day, however, the man made his appearance deco rated with Father Mathew's temperance medal, ahd begged to be received into his former place, declaring that he had become a temperance man, was going to take the pledge, and had made up his mind never to drink again. Know ing the character of the Irish, the master re ceived the penitent, perfectly confident that he should find him an altered man ; nor Was he; deceived, for from that time the former sot eontinued a- s#ber, useful, and exemplary ser vant. I tell this anecdote merely because thousands like it meet one at every turn, and prove the astonishing change from black to white, which has suddenly been effected throughout Ireland, by Father Mathew. These anecdotes throw a remarkable light on the Irish character, and on the temperance cause, and I think one cannot hear them too often. The testimony of my landlord at Killarney here occurred to me again. He declaredthat he had formerly had so much trouble owing to the drunkenness and quarrel ling Ofhis people, that he had never slept sound ly until within the last two or three years, that is, since the temperance movement began. Now, he told me, he no longer dreaded the Saturday as a regular day of riot, when his boatmen often used to spend all they had earn ed in the- previous week. Now they all came home sober, the horses and the boats were properly taken care of, and as if by enchant ment every thing went on in quiet and order. My companion told me, he had a few weeks ago been at the fair at Donegal, where at least 10,000 people were assembled, and where for merly rioting, fighting, and drunkenness had been the order of the day ; this year nothing of the kind had come to his knowledge. It was " like enchantment," he said. As my friend was rather fatigued, he retired early, and I went out alone to take a walk late in the evening on the sea-shore, and soon per- -Ceived a something, I could not make out what, moving before me. As it passed a house some rays of light from a window discovered to me a! strange kind of head gear decorated with ilbwers, which I recollected to have been worn by a ; beggar woman whom I had seen in -the fish-market. She was oneof the mob who had closed the gates behind us, and in the wildness and eagerness of her gesticulations had sug gested to me some doubts of her sanity, a sus picion somewhat confirmed by the fantastic character of her attire. She wore a yellow peltieoat, the tattered remains of a large red shawl, which she trailed behind her in the dust like a train, and a man's round hat, with a broad brim decorated with a garland of artifi cial flowers. In her hand she carried a stout stick, by the aid of which she moved swiftly :alOng. Altogether she reminded me -of a char acter in one of Walter Scott's novels, as these half insane, oddly decorated beggars always do, for she was by no means the only one of the •class I had seen in Ireland. Mary Sullivan, for that was her name, was mow proceeding in a very quiet orderly man ner along the shore of Bantry Bay ; at last 1 approached and bade her good evening, and she made a perfectly civil reply. It appeared that her business for the day was oyer, and, although she still wore the costume of her part, she had left the stage, and was on the point of return ing to her private abode. As she said it was situated not far from the tbwn, on the shores of the bay, I offered to accompany her to it, for I had a wish to see the dwelling of an Irish beggar at night. We crossed some broken rocky ground, and at last, as it seemed to me, turned quite out of the beaten path, but Mary Sullivan said there was no other way, so oh we went. She said if I would give her my hand she would lead me in safety to the hut, which it appeared belonged, not to her, but to her sister. These poor peo ple generally prefer a wild looking place to live ih ; they seem to think they are more in dependent if their abodes are not very acces sible, and the benefits of the great undertakings of the English in road making, are by no means so universally acknowledged by the Irish as we might suppose. We reached at last the hut of the Sullivans, which stood on a naked rocky ground, washed by the waters of Bantry Bay, and crept in. The Irish are a very religious people, and have all kinds of pretty pious salu tations always at hand. If they pass people at work in a field the regular form is " God bless your work," and the answer " Save you too." If one praises a- person, or even a thing, ' or more especially a child, one must never forget to add '' God bless it," for praise always seems suspicious to an Irishman, and, unless accom panied by an invocation of God's blessing, it appears to bim to indicate a desire either to possess it oneself or to destroy it by-calling to wards it the attention of fairies and bad spirits, who are always on the look out for what is beautiful. An Irish mother would rather hear a stranger say, " What a nasty, screaming, disagreeable brat your child is," than " What a charming little angel you've got there," un less he instantly warned Off the bad spirits by adding " God bless him." As they never for get to ask a blessing, they are also most dili gent in returning thanks. "Thanks to the great God," is a phrase often in their mouths, and certainly I believe ih their hearts also. They of ten utter this thanksgiving even when speaking of a misfortune, as "I've loSt my poor, dear little child, thanks to the great God," a phrase that always reminded me of the Russian " slawa bogu," which generally closes every story. We crept into the hut of the Sullivans with the usual salutation of "God save you all," and heard the response " God sav» you kindly" from the sister of Mary SulliVan and her half- grown daughter, who were crouching over a turf fire boiling potatoes. A little girl ahd boy were lying on the ground in company with some pigs, and gnawing a half-raw potato which they had taken from the pot. The hut was lighted partly by the fire, and partly by a dim lamp, that hung from a rafter. The lamp was a large sea shell, filled with fish oil, in which was burning a rush wiek. The father was not at home, having been for some days upon the water, helping to collect coral sand, but another strangely sounding voice came from the corner of the hovel, which had taken no part in tbe pious salutation. I asked who was moaning there. " It is my eldest son IRELAND. 43 your honour," was the reply, "he's an idiots- thank the great God — and he often moans so tho whole day iong." By the feeble glimmer of the lamp I now recognised a poor oreature, who seemed to me more miserable and helpless than almost any I had ever beheld. It was a young man about twenty years of age, lying in a sort of box. representing a bed, and which was indeed the best bed the hut contained. He hadunder him straw and rags, and a pillow for his headv but he lay sobbing and trembling all over. His mother showed me some parts of his miserable frame. His arms and legs were like those of a skeleton^ and several of his fin gers had grown together. As we toOchedhim he lifted up his head, and gazed at us with a vacant look. "He has been so from his birth, your hon our," said the mother. " For twenty years we have been obliged to feed' him so, without his ¦ being able to do the least tbihg for us." " And yet you love him V said I to the poor mother, thinking perhaps that an unfortunate oreature like this Oould hardly be attended to in the midst of such poverty. " Love him 1 to be sure, your honour. Isn't he my own son, God bless him. Eh, Mavour- -neefl, look Up then," she added, raising him carefully up, and laying his head on her arm, while she stroked his crippled hand. " I'm the only one, sir, that understands his language. He never asks after any body but me. I give him every morning his potatoes, and, when I've -got any, milk and porridge. You see he's got a better bed than' any of us. Don't sob so, darling." Mary Sullivan, the old aunf of the idiot, had, in the mean time, hung upon a peg her flo-wer- adorned hat, and the other parts of her costume, and taken from her pocket some potatoes and a fish, which had probably been , given to her. The potatoes she laid at the corner of the fire, which she seemed to consider as her own, hung the fish up by a wire over it to rbast, and then took out her pipe and began to smoke. She told me, in answer to my question, that she spent about a halfpenny a-day in tobacco, that is fifteen shillings a-year, which; for a beggar, appeared to me no inconsiderable sum. For a halfpenny one can buy, in Ireland, a large piece of bread ; and I could not help wishing that some second Father Mathew might arise, to preaoh a total abstinence from tobacco, and in duce the poor Irish women to expend what it costs them in wholesome food for themselves or their children. Tenderness and hospitality are the universal characteristics of the Irish. They have also a certain easy politeness of manner towards strangers, which, in the higher classes, some what-resembles that of the Parisians, but is met with just as often in the huts of the poor est beggars. In many countries, the stranger who1 enters the hut of a poor family* is- stated at in dumb astonishment by the inmates, till they become familiar with him. Not so in Ire land Dirty and ragged as they are,, they offer ¦what they have, without embarrassment to the most fashionably-dressed visiter; and although they never forget the respectful address, "your honour," yet they always appear to consider #im what he really is— their guest and equal. When I parted from the Sullivans, I was- ac companied to the, door by many a warm " God speed ye," and by the most cordial thanks fot the honour I had done them by my visit, and for the sympathy I had expressed for the un fortunate son and brother. The two little ones had, in the meantime, lighted a couple of dry fagots, byway Of torches, and accompanied me out over their irregular mountain path. When at last I drove them back, and bade them fare well, I saw them for some time standing to gether on the hill-top, throwing the light of their torches before me on my path, while their clear, sharp, childish voices echoed around, as they shouted, " Take care, your honour ! take care. God speed ye !" from Bantry to cork. The next morning, although the day had not yet dawned, our travelling car was already sur rounded by a troop of beggars. Hunger had driven the poor creatures to work at their dreary trade before the dawn. I did not no tice Mary Sullivan's garlanded hat among the crowd. Probably, living with her sister, she was a little better off than the rest, and could sleep and smoke a little longer. Among these beggars was an old man of par ticularly miserable appearance, who was wheel ed about oh a barrow. He constantly kept whi ning out,, from among the crowd, in a weak voice, his, melancholy song, which consisted of these words : " Hundred and five years old ! Blind and weak ! And a hundred and live years old !" His miserable appearance gained him the victory over all the rest, and he got the lit tle which we had to give. As I got into the car, I noticed that the little boy who wheeled the old man about pushed his arm, and told him that a good gentleman had thrown some halfpence into his barrow. " God bless him ! Long life to him ! God save his honour ! God carry him home !" accompanied us on our way, murmured in a trembling voice by the poor old human century. Our way from Bantry to Cork — about fifty miles in length — lay through a very barren and uninteresting country, which is not much bet ter cultivated than Kerry, and which wants the interesting diversity of hill and dale, and steep declivity, presented by that country. A wilder ness can only be attractive when nlountaionous, and a- plain can only please when carefully cul tivated. The only exception to the dreary mo notony of this road is the little town of Bandon, lying on the Bandon river, which is prettily em bosomed in trees, and whose environs are adorn ed with neat villas and country seats. Bandon, I am told, is as famous in the south of Ireland for the order, tranquillity, and loyolty of its citi zens, as Londonderry is in the North. I do not know the reason of this with respect to Bandon, With, respect to Londonderry, the explanation will be found in its origin. The town was founded by a colony of Londoners, and may con sequently have brought with it the germ of a loyal and peaceable disposition from the city of the Thames. " Loyal Deny" is its name all over Ireland. The best thing on this rood is the cheap rate at which one may travel upon it. We drove 44 IRELAND. fifty miles here for three-and-sixpence, which is not a penny a mile, while on the road from Killarney to Bantry we paid twice the money for half the distance. On that road, which I was told was quite a new one, there existed no busy intercourse and no competition, while on the Bantry and Cork road " a great opposition" was going on. Two rival cars had been estab lished, and vied with one another in speed of transport and lowness of price. This competi tion, however, had only been going on for the last two years. The principal owner and improver of cars in Ireland is an Kalian called Bianconi, whose ex tensive speculations have made his name so fa mous, that he well deserves mention, espeeially as he is one of the rare instances of a foreigner whose speculative ingenuity has heat the Eng lish within their own territory. This remarka ble man, whose horses and cars now occupy al most ali the roads in Ireland, was originally tine of those little Italian boys who abound in all the towns of the kingdom, and who wander about either with barrel-organs or with plaster images. As he was a frugal and industrious boy, he soon prospered with his images, and was able to buy other kinds of merchandise. To carry about all his goods on his own back soon became too troublesome, and he bought a little donkey and donkey-cart. When the don key became unequal to the increasing press of business, he bought a. horse. This horse he did not, however, always use, and when he "could spare it, he let it out on hire for money and civil words. He soon found that the hire of the horse brough him in more than the profit on his wares, and he therefore bought another horse, in order to let one out on hire, while he continued his business with the other. At the same time he improved his cart, so that he could transport a few passengers in it along with his goOds. In this manner he gradually establish ed himself as a car driver in the town of Clon- mel, which lies northeast of Cork. At first he drove only to and from places at a little distance from Clonmel, such as Cork, Kilkenny, &c. For this purpose he built large, open, convenient cars resting on springs, such as I have above described. In these long, nar row vehicles, which are capable of containing a great many travellers and goods, he was ena bled to transport passengers at a very low price. He promoted, also, the establishment of many pther conveyance-cars, and drove, or, rather, had carmen who drove, on many roads where, till, then, no regular modes of conveyance had existed. While thus he bought horse after horse, built car after car, and took carman after carman into his service, he gradually intersect ed all Ireland with his conveyances, and estab lished his business oh a grander scale than had ever before been seen. He now possesses no less than 600 large cars and 1500 horses in con stant employment. He has become not only a very wealthy, but quite a great man in the coun try, and his countrymen by adoption praise his benevolence no less than his sagacity. Mr. Bianconi has had little maps of Ireland engraved, on which are traced the routes pur sued by all his cars, and he has employed artists to illustrate his enterprises. There is a whole series of engravings, known by the name of the " Bianconi cars," which are met with in all parts of Ireland. 'One represents the packing up and getting ready of one Of these singular conveyances; a second, its arrival at one of Bianconi's inns ; a third, Biaticoni's passengers surprised by a shower of rain ; a fourth, the whole car with its four horses, and all its goods and passengers, briskly traversing a mountain road ; a fifth, a car changing horses in the midst of a wide, dreary wilderness of bog and morass, while the passengers are dismounting to take a little exercise, &c.,&c. CORK. The Kerry men are, as has been said, intelli gent, but poor, and somewhat clownish in their manners ; the Limerick people are good-looking and polite; the Dublin people are obliging and hospitable, and the most polite and refined of all the Irish. " And what are the Cork peo ple V asked I, of my travelling companion, wha gave me these particulars, as we dismounted at the Commercial Hotel. " Rather sharp !" he replied. " They like to make themselves merry at otheY people's expense, and are distinguish ed from all the other Irish, by a peculiar, keen, ironical humOur. They soon discover any one's weak side, and are merciless in the use of their fine but cutting sarcasms." "And have the Cork people themselves no weak sidel" " Oh, yes," and while my friend was still considering what he should say to that, a dreadful noise broke out just beneath our window, from one of the Temperance-bands which perambulate the streets of Cork at night, and it being Saturday evening, the musicians were followed by a crowd of people! showing me that one of the weak sides of the Cork people must be their ears. The next day, when I visited the picture-gal lery of the good city of Cork, I perceived that the Cork people must have another Weak side, somewhere in the direction of their eyes, since upon the different pieces of canvass stretched out here, so many distorted shapes and ugly colours were brought together, that their want of harmony disturbed me almost as much as the Temperance music of the preceding night. As, however, I had visited them, neither to delight myself with beautiful works of art, nor to amuse myself by criticizing the taste of the Cork peo ple, but to search for something characteristic, of the country and the place, I found that I had hot wasted my time. The painters of every country, particularly in countries were tableaux de genre are much sought after — always reflect in their paintings so much that, is characteristic of the manners and customs of their nation, the climate, and geography of their country, that whoever makes these his study, will find picture galleries most valuable sources of information, and should not despise the most insignificant collections. Thus in the Cork collection, I found the busts of the mayors and aldermen of Cork, of the late mayor of Dublin, Daniel O'Connell, and of Fa ther Mathew. Next to these came an emi gration scene of poor Irish leaving their be loved Erin for the " far west" of America ; then a group of Irish fishermen, and then some wild mountain scenes and turf morasses. The best thing that a painter can do, is t* IRELAND. 45 represent the characteristic scenes and events of his own country : for then, however small his talents, he is sure of having something to represent which he knows and understands, and which, if only tolerably accurately copied, will be'sure of being of some use in the world. Yes, even the greatest geniuses, perhaps, can attain the highest eminence only while they keep within the horizon of their nationality, and are most sure to excel, when they embody national characteristics and national scenes. The greatest painters, like the greatest poets, have always been genuine patriots, and their finest creations have always borne traces of the age and nation from which they sprang. The strength of Cork, however, lies in quite another direction, than that of art. This town is well-known to be the chief shipping port for the raw produce of all the southern part of Ire land, and I, therefore, hastened to the ware houses of the town, to its slaughter-houses, pack ing, salting, and provision houses, and butter- weighing machines or firkin cranes, and to leajn something of those branches of industry which occupy the greatest part of the popula tion. In the neighbourhood of Cork are situated the largest dairies of Ireland. Kerry and other grazing counties lying near, great quantities of butter, ham, bacon, meat, and cattle are brought to Cork, just as Dublin exports principally grain, because it lies in the midst of an agricultural district. Butter being one of the principal wares of Cork, its butter market and firkin crane are two of the most interesting sights in the town. The butter is brought to the town in little tubs called firkins, ahd the weight and quality of each firkin are decided by a hoard of butter inspectors, whose chief is entitled a gen eral crane-master. Upon each firkin is stamp ed the quantity and quality, as fixed by the in spectors, and thus the credit of the extensive Cork butter trade is kept up. As Cork butter is often intended for very distant places, it is very strongly salted. The mountain butter of Kerry has the reputation of being very "firm in body," as the phrase is. At the great provision merchants' warehous es enormous quantities of life stores are collect ed together. Huge and excellent hams are rahged in long rows, like the folios and octavos of a library. In the suburbs of Cork there are large slaughter-houses for pigs, in which thou sands of the inmates and rent-payers of the Irish cabins annually expire. I should like to know with what thoughts and feelings poor hun gry Paddy studies these vast libraries of bacon ! It is dreadful to think that the poor Irish should have to furnish other countries with such vast quantities of tha^which they themselves are starving for want of. If Paddy, however, was but a little more industrious, he might keep many of these fine fat hams in his Own chim ney, instead of seeing them sail away thousands of miles, to feed her Majesty's soldiers in the East or West Indies. Some of the most interesting sights in this town are the establishments of those merchants who deal in fresh provisions, winch they pre serve by various devices. Those men are known by the name of preserved fresh provis ion merchants. The preserved fresh provision trade is one which has been only established in Ireland during the last twenty years, and the art has lately been brought to an extraordinary degree of perfection, which out of Great Britain it could never have attained, since no other country has occasion to send all kinds of pro visions to such distant regions of the globe. I went over the great establishment of Mr. Gam ble, " Patent Preserved Fresh Provision Mer chant to her Majesty's NaVy, and to the Hon ourable the East India Company." In his warehouses I saw eatables of all imaginary kinds, so skilfully packed up in tin or pewter cases, that they would keep quite fresh for years together. Even milk and cream are so skilful ly prepared and packed, that if a traveller take a case with him on a voyage round the world, and open it' in the Indian Ocean or the South Pacific, he will find its Contents as fresh and sweet as if just drawn from the cow. The principal points to be observed are the close ness and imperviousness of the vessel, the choice of the best quality of everything, and the keeping the provisions themselves, as well as the vessels in which they are contained, com pletely air-tight. To what perfection this art of preserving has been carried, is proved by the testimony of Cap tain Ross. In the year 1824, he bought differ ent cases of vegetables tp take with him on his Northern Expedition. Many of these cases re mained behind in the stranded ship Fbry, and were not found again till the month of August, 1833, that is, nine years afterward. And al though during this period they had been sub jected to all the extremes of that northern cli mate — in winter to a cold of fifty-two degrees below zero of Fahrenheit, and in summer to a heat of eighty degrees — yet when the cases were opened their contents were found perfect ly fresh and eatable. Every thing about this branch of trade is beautifully complete. Some of the cases of cream are made to hold just enough for twelve cups, others for twenty-four or thirty-six cups. The captain, therefore, who provides himself at these places has only to give the number of his officers and passengers, and is supplied with cases containing the axact daily portion requi red for his ship. Thus by opening One case every day, as fresh and regular a supply is kept up as if there were cows on board. In the same way the portions of meat and vegetables in each case are calculated for a certain num ber of persons, and there is also this great advantage, that almost every thing is ready coOked, so as to spare both firing and trouble. Sauces and soups of all possible kinds are thus prepared according to the rules of the first cu linary authorities, and require only to be warm ed up by the inexperienced hand of a common seaman, to furnish forth the choicest delica cies on the barren ocean. The harbour of Cork is rich in entertaining spectacles, and among these I must mention the embarkation of Irish pigs, cows, and oxen for exportation. The shipping of a cargo ot pigs is a particularly amusing sight, and is al ways sure of having hundred of spectators. It is an inexhaustible source of entertainment to him who spends a leisure hour in loitering about the harbour, to watch the humorous ges- 46 IRELAND. ticulations, and listen to the nqisy lamentations of pqpr Paddy, when he bids farewell, for the last time, to bis rent-payers, the pigs, and sees them embark in the ship which, is to bear, them, far away from the shores of old Erin, Then there are ships laden wi,th butter-firkins. What a wealthy country pqpr Ireland must seem to those who, from her scarcity, shall enjoy .this rich .abundance ! Another ship exports grain, and the poor porters stagger under the weight of great sacks of, con), a little of which would make a feast in ,the,ir. hungry cabins, but not a grain of which they will ever taste,! A third vessel is providing Itself wjth stores of shjp!s biscuits, haked-ip ,the great steam-mill bakeries, of Cork, apd, dried tp. keep for years. It seepis strange that^ppnr lumgry Ireland, numbers of Whose .1 children dieanpuallypf, hunger, and its. cppsequences, and ,ip whose pospitalg apd bjlls. of .piortaljty, "starvation" forms as regular a heading as any pther complaint, should yet have tp feed, frorp her own scarcity the ,popuIatipn of many.a, richer country ! One of the most interesting au4, instructive places I visited at Cork, was the county-jail, whiph, contains bqth debtqrs ,and criminals. The governors of .the :Eng|ish prisons are cer tainly the most obliging and liberal in the world towards visiters, and are so ready t°, assist and satisfy the inquisitive stranger, and to afford hjm every mfprrnatipn in their power, that I cannot think without gratitude of the treatment I have experienced at their hands. Tr,ey seem to have, no prqfessipnal secrets, They open ,tp| the visiter their books and reports, not only al lowing, but encouraging, and urging him, to. put all sorts of questions to the prisoners ; and they often even send him useful books, docu ments, and treatises,, to, his. own house, to as sist him in his investigations. The. most remarkable fap,t which, I gathered frpm.the reports, so kipdly lent me at Cork, was the, extraordinary. diminution ,of crime in Ire land, since the beginning of the temperance movement. As I, dp not think that this great change has been sufficiently made known, I will put tpgethpr a few of those facts which tend tp prove and illustrate it. In .the.. year 1839 the criminals of all kinds, brought tp trial in Ireland, amounted to 36,392, ; In the year 1840 to 23,833 "- " 1841 " ,20,7,90 Thus, in three years, the number of crimin als-has been diminished by 22 per cent. Of all the different crimes, that of murder has happi ly experiencedthe greatest diminution. In 1839 the convictions for. murder amounted to 286. " 1840 " " " " 159 " 1841 " " " " 120 Three years,, therefore, give us a reduction in the number of murders by more than one half. Other causes may have contributed to this salutary change, but so, considerable and sudden an improvement must be attributed chiefly to the operatipn of temperance. A comparison of these Irish. criminal statis-, tics with those pf England for five, same dates, is-any. thing hut to the advantage of the latter, In England.the numher bf crimesbas increased, almost as much as in Ireland it, has diminished. In England — In the year 1838, 83,094 criminals were brought to tint. " " 1639,24,443 " " " " " 1840, 27,187 " " '* " " 18,41, 27,760 •' " " In spite; of this, however, the proportion of criminals to the population is still greater in. Ireland than in England. In 1841 Ireland had 8,000,000 inhabitants, and; about 20,000 com mittals, therefore pne person accused of crime for every 400 inhabitants ; while in England, during the same year, the population amounted to abopt 15;00'),000, and the .numher of com mittals to 2.7,800, which gives one accused to. every 555 inhabitants. In order, however, to ascertain this fact to a certainty,, it would .bo,. necessary to inquire first, ,whether the criminal statistics, of England and Ireland; are calculated quite in the same way, The comparative nirobers of murders jn Eng land and Ireland, is.particulaiily.remajrkable. In England — In the year 1839, 40 murders were committed or attempted. " ,i- 18*9,56 " " " '' ¦, " I' 1841, 63 " " " " In Ireland, cppsequeptly, in the year 1839, five times as many murders were cemmiUed as in England ; apd in 1841, when the number of murders had increased |n England and di minished .in Ireland, only twice as many. Pro- portionabiy to, the population, however, the Irish murders were ,eleyen times as many in 1839, and fopr times as mpny in 1841. If in Ireland, hpwev.er, we include the cases- of manslaughter and attempts to murder, the numbers become really terrific, although tha,njt Gpd ! a great jroprpvernent has taken place even there. Murdej, shopting, .stabbing, ad ministering poison with intent to murder, as- saplt with intent to, murder, solicitation to mur der, conspiracy to murder, manslaughter, all these offences, put together, were committed — 898. times, in il 839 503 " " 1840 50? " " 1841 The most painful parts of criminal statistics in Great Britain are thpse relating to juvenile offenders, of whom siieh numbers are to be, found in every English prispn. On an average, among 100 criminals, eight away satisfied that they have heard mass and done^ their duty." Those who still regard the ancient Irish lan guage as their mother-tongue, are even worse off. The' great city Of Cork, which lies in a dis trict where much Irish is still Spoken,' contains Only iwo churches where sermons are preached in Irish. A short time ago, the Irishprisoners in the Cork gaol petitioned their chaplain that he would sometimes preach his Sunday sermon to- them in Irish. The Bishop of Cork' has one of the most in teresting collections of books that I have ever seen. This' learned, industrious man, has tur. IRELAND. 51 ed his whole house into a library. Not only his sitting-rooms and dining-rooms are book-rooms, but even in his bedrooms every spare place is filled with books. His attendants, and even his maid-servants, sleep in little libraries. The walls Of his staircases and the corridors of his rooms, are filled with books, up to the very garrets. His house contains the largest private collection of books in Ireland, and is rich in costly and interesting works. I mention this, because I believe it is not generally known, that among the catholic clergy of Ireland there are still men to be found so devoted to learned pursuits. There was a time, indeed, when Ireland was looked upon by all Europe as the seat of learn ing and the isle of saints. While Germany yet laybdriedin the night of heathenism, the clear light of the gospel shone 'bright over Erin. For eigners flocked from far and near to study, at her seminaries of learning, and she sent forth continually new and zealous missionaries of Christianity, to publish the glad tidings of reve lation to the heathen. St. Colpmb, and his dis ciple St. Gallus, whose name is still borne by one of the Swiss cantons, St. Livin the Belgian missionary, St. Kilian the apostle of the Franks, St. Wiro the confessor of Pepin, and innumera ble other saints of pote, were born Irishmen, and played a most important part in the history of Christianity. "Gaude; felix Hibernia, de qua proles almaprogreditur !" (Rejoice, happy Ire land, from whom such sons proceed^) were the words inscribed on the tombstone of the famous Irishman, Cataldus, who died at Tarentum in Italy. The times have changed since then for Ire land. " Felix Hibernia !" has become a phrase too inappropriate even for the poet's pen. All Irish poems have something melancholy in them, and Haydn, on hearing a national Irish melody for the first time; without knowing. Whence it came, exclaimed that such music ceuld-only belong to an oppressed and unfortu nate race. I have said that the catholics are now far more powerful and influential in Ireland' than they were, and the protestants less so. Yet upon the whole; the old relation of rulers and dependents still exists between them, as I had many opportunities of observing. I was often- exhorted not to pull off my hat so often, because, that was like thepoor catholics. The hotel at which Modged in Cork was kept by a protest- ant and1 lory host, and was almost wholly fre quented by protestants. There was another hotel in the town, patronised exclusively by catholics and whigs. Many towns in Irelarid have separate inns for catholics and protest ants ; nay, I was even assured that there were protestant and catholic cars and stage-coaches. FROM CORK TO KILKENNY' One day, after receiving the congratulations of mine host of Cork upon the " delightful dety," which said delightful day, however, I consider^ ed only just not very bad, I left Cork for Kil kenny, where I was informed that a great horse-race would, that day be held. Indeed, in Ireland, every body I met always congratulated me upon the state of the weather, even, when drizzling rains, sharp-«wiiidsr and cold mists, were my principal meteorological advantages. The district between Cork and Kilkenny con tains many beautiful and interesting points. Prom Cork to Dublin, indeed, is considered the ' finest part of Ireland, and no other district is so rich in smiling landscapes, picturesque shores, fine harbours, handsome towns, and beautiful rivers. We drove for a little while along the sweet bay of Cove, and then turned inland ipto a fertile and thickly- wooded valley. At Fermoy we reached the river Blackwater, which is high ly picturesque, and abounds in fine scenery, from its mouth to its source. The last town in the county of Cork is Mitchelstowp, and who ever is obliged like me to pass it without stop ping, had better seat himself on the south side of the car, in order that he may not be tanta lized by, a, glimpse of the entrance to the far- famed Caverns of Mitchelstown, which he .can not spare time to visit. We next entered a 4 level country, lying between the Gaftee'and the Knockmeledown mountains, whos.e lofty sum mits bound the view on both sjdes of the plaip. The town of Cahir is beautifully situated on the shores of the river Suir, and long before 'we entered it we saw the proud spire of its catho lic church towering out of the plain, and ap pearing t0 'look down with haughty contempt qn the little steeple of the protestant church he- side it. In many parts of Ireland the catholic churches are now beginning to tower above those of " the establishment," as the English often call their church ; and all over the coun try the Irish catholics are vying with the'.Eng-' lish protestants in the zeal with which they build new churches and repair old ones. The present mania for church building in the United Kingdom surpasses any thing Ihave ever seen out of Russia. As Fermoy looks; up with tender veneration ,to its interesting neighbour, the ancient city pf Lismore, so Cahir regards with affectionate rev erence the old and famous ruins of Cashel,,one" of the holy spots of Ireland.' We saw'the hill of Cashef rising out of the plain at, a distance, covered With the ruins of its old churches, and crowned with its round tower in a perfect state of preservation. These ruins are considered' the most beautiful in Ireland. Lord Glengall is the man upon whom, under Heaven, the turf and the potatoes, the happi ness anrlprosperity.of the entire district round Cahir depend. He has a beautiful castle close to the town, and, at present, resides there, in fulfilment of an old promise to his tenantry. On every estate the great question is that of residence and non-residence. Where the land lord resides upon his own estates the tenants are well treated, the land well cultivated, and the whole country prosperous and happy. Where he does not reside, the peasants have no re dress from the tyranny of his subordinates ; ex ecutions for non-payment of rent are frequent and cruel, and the money of the district is sent out of the country, without returning in any shape to those who lose it. We had now entered the notprious county of Tipperary, in which more murders and'assaults are committed in one year than in the whole kingdom of Saxony in five. As the Italians have their stilettoes, so the Irish, and particu larly the Xipperary-men, have their formidable shflelaghs, a kind of hard, thick, heavy club, 52 IRELAND. with which they perpetrate a great many of their atrocities. Shilelagh is a little village in the county of Wicklow, in the neighbourhood of which a great many of these clubs are made, and from which they derive their name. These clubs have a much more innocent and harmless appearance than might be expected. The Al pine mountaineers carry long, thick, iron-bound staffs, which have a much more formidable ap pearance, but it is the use to which the shile- laghs are commonly put which renders them terrible. I'met a Tipperary-man in one of the streets of Cahir; he Was leading his little donkey, which was harnessed to a small cart filled with turf. His clothes, hanging upon him in miser able tatters, gave him the appearance of having been beaten and buffeted about all his life; many of his rags hung but by a single thread. He was wretchedly thin and haggard looking, and every bone in his face was plainly distin guishable through his skin. This miserable and degraded exterior did not lead me to ex pect the fiery and quarrelsome impetuosity which it concealed. I approached the man, and, in order to enter into some conversation with him, I bade him good morning, and asked him in which direction his journey lay. " What? what ?" "I asked whither you were going," I said. "Whatl what! Where I'm going?" " Yes." " What the devil does it concern you, I should like to know ?" " Well, do not be an gry, it does not much concern me, certainly. I am travelling to Clonmel, and asked you where you were goihg, in order to know whether you were going my way." He suddenly stopped his donkey, and stood as if rooted to the ground, staring fixedly at me, and shaking his shilelagh. " The devil take ye, go where ye will What do I care ? Why do you ask me where I am going ? What's my road to the likes o' you? Whatl what? Where I am go ing? It's enough to drive a man mad to be asked such questions ! D'ye take me for a highwayman ? Eh ? eh ?" He then took up a vefy threatening posture, although I remained perfectly quiet and peaceable, he stamped his foot and brandished his shilelagh, and screamed out in such a perfect torrent of passion, "Where am I going? Eh? Where am I going?" that my travelling companions heard the noise and approached us, asking me the cause of the dis turbance. I repeated to them the innocent question by which I had drawn down upon my self this torrent of wrath, and, as I walked away, I saw the Tipperary-man was with great difficulty restrained from following me and ma king me pay for my temerity. Every hair on his head stood on end, and every rag on his body shook with the intensity of his passion. " Do not on that account condemn all the men of Tipperary, sir !" began one of my trav elling companions, when we remounted the car to proceed on our journey. " There are, certainly, many queer characters among them, and upon the whole they, perhaps, deserve the bad reputation they enjoy in Ireland ; but I am well acquainted with this county, I may say I know every corner of it ; I have been for years in the habit of travelling day and night in it, and have never come to any harm. Nay, the Tipperary people are particularly friendly and hospitable towards strangers whose conduct does not jar against their customs and prejudi ces. It "is their unfortunate relation to their landlords which is the source of half their crimes. I did not hear how you worded your question to this man, but had you begun with a God bless you kindly !' or a ' God speed you on your way !' and come gradually and gently to your question, it would probably have been quietly and politely answered. In your coun try it may be, as you say, a general custom, nay, a common civility, for two persons meet ing to inquire each other's roads ; but here it is, as you see, unusual, and, therefore, suspi cious." " Since temperance," as the people say, these quarrelsome men of Tipperary have much im proved, and although their unfortunate position must always give them a certain tendency to re bellion, yet even riots and insurrections are much less frequent among them than they were. " Since temperance" so many changes have ta ken place in Ireland, that it ought to make quite a new era in Irish history. Clonmel is the largest town in the county of Tipperary. It contains lfi,000 inhabitants, and its thriving aspect, and the animated bustle of its streets, bear testimony to its importance and prosperity. As we dismounted before the inn at Clonmel a number of old beggarwomen sur rounded our car as usual. I gave one of them a penny. She spat upon it, and at first I ima gined she did-so to show her contempt, because I had given her so small a coin. Afterwards, however, I found that' it is a regular custom of the beggars in Ireland (and also in some parts of England), to spit upon the money given them, " for good luck," as they say. The beggarwomen were many of them too old and infirm to follow us ; but a crowd of lit tle flaxen haired children ran after the car a long way, when it had driven off. The word " ha'penny" seems to have become so natural to their tongues, that it drops out spontaneous ly the moment they open their lips. They do not care what you say to them, but keep up one incessant cry of "ha'penny! ha'penny!" until a piece of copper is thrown towards them, when the whole troop fall to grubbing in the dirt, and scrambling for it. On the whole way from Limerick to Cork, and from Cork to Kil kenny, a distance of some hundred miles in length, our car was never a moment free from swarms of noisy little beggars, and as soon as one troop gaye up the pursuit in despair, anoth er ragged little throng came shouting and gal loping over the moor, to supply its place. The Bianconi-cars are very favourable to beggars, because the travellers sit perpetually facing the poor supplicants, and close to them. I spoke of flaxen-haired children, but in some western districts the Irish are all black-haired. The most remarkable thing about it is, that whereas in other countries blue eyes are always found with light hair, and dark eyes with dark hair, the Irish are without exception blue eyed, and eyes of the deafest azure tint gleam continu ally beneath hair black as the raven's wing IRELAND. 53 THE KILKENNY RACES. We arrived at Kilkenny towards dusk, and, after a hasty dinner, I sallied forth to see how an Irish town would look on the eve of a horse race. The place contains 25,000 inhabitants,, and is, in point of importance, the eighth town in Ireland. During the three days of the races, however, the population falls little short of 40,000. What struck me most in the streets were the ballad-singers, of whom Ireland con tains more, I think, than any country in the world, and of whom I saw literally twice as many in the streets of Kilkenny as there were lamp-posts. Yet they were none of them with out auditors, and some were surrounded by a Tegular mob of tattered admirers; The following day the races began, and though the course was three miles from the town, the races might be said to begin within the streets of Kilkenny ; I mean those of the cars, omnibuses, vans, and other equipages of every imaginable description, in which thou sands hastened to the ground, that they might share in the excitement of the day. For my part, I took an outside place on a stage-coach, and thus secured not only a conveyance, but also a convenient place from which to witness the spectacle. Our road lay through an uninterrupted cloud of dust, from which we issued only on our ar rival at the verdant course. It is not always easy to find, in the vicinity of a large town, a piece of ground that unites all the desiderata of a good race-course, which must be dry, elastic, and level. In the United Kingdom there are no less than 120 race-courses, one of the best of which is the Curragh of Kiidare, said to owe its elasticity, so much prized by racing men; to the worms that are continually piercing it. The field was covered with thousands of spectators. The Grand Stand was full to overflowing, and so were two other scaffold ings erected only for the day. The equipages drawn up on the edge of the course formed a complete intrenchment, while i hundreds on horseback, or in small tilburies, galloped about in the intermediate space, according as any ob ject attracted their attention. Many preparatory movements preceded the commencement of the more important business of the day. The horses were paraded upon the course to be admired by the delighted specta tors. Then there was the ceremony of adjust ing the weight of the jockeys, and that of sad dling, mounting, and assembling at the starting- post. Suddenly we heard the cry, " They're off!" and six race-horses, stretched to their utmost length, rushed by us at full speed. The ex citement was general. " Beautiful ! splendid ! beautiful!" " Goit.Nimrod !" " That's right, Charley ; reserve yourself, and the race is yours !" " It's Nimrod's race, all the world to nothing!" were the sounds on every side of me. l?or my own part, I see nothing very pic turesque in a group of English race horses dash ing by at full speed. The beauties prized by the connoisseur are often defects in the eye of the uninitiated, and the jockeys are obliged to crouch into a position the very reverse of what a painter would wish to delineate. The real pleasure of the spectators, indeed, depends loss upon the race than upon the associations con nected with it ; the money known to be at stake, the high rank of those present, the fame of the horses, and the excitement to which a large as semblage is sure to give rise, all these contrib ute to inspire an interest in the great question of which horse's nose shall be first to reach the winning-post. Neither Nimrod nor Charley won the race, but Lucifer, a new horse, that made its first ap pearance on the turf that day. The people pressed eagerly round the victor, stroked his neck, his back, and caressed him in every pos sible way, while incessant shouts and. cheers greeted him wherever he passed. Some took hold of the reins to lead him to the weighing house, and many, I am sure, would have lent him their legs with pleasure, if he could have used them. The jockey was lifted from his horse with the utmost tenderness, and being found full weight, was declared to have won his race " fairly and no mistake." Next followed a hurdle-race, but it proved a disappointment. One jockey fell, another" broke out of the course, and several others disqualified themselves for reasons unknown to me, until only one remained, when it was said, "Mr. Soloway's Countess walks over the course." A race of farmers' horses followed, and this was to me the best part of the sport ; for these horses, I had at least the satisfaction of suppo sing, were fit for something else than betting upon. It is strange that this passion of horse- racing, like so many English habits, should of late years have established itself so generally on the continent ; yet I doubt whether we shall ever see at any of our races scenes like some of those which I witnessed from my " outside place." I looked down into the interior of an elegant equipage, in which was seated the young and handsome wife of Sir Frederic . She had an elegant pocket-book in her hand, and noted, evidently in a state of much excitement, everything that occurred on the course. I was told she was passionately fond of races and most other sports, and carefully kept a record of every event connected with them. A little away from the course was a complete city of tents fitted up for dancing and refresh ment. The fitting up was the same in all of them. In front was a kind pf bar, and behind a large space, with benches around, and in the centre something like a door laid on the ground for the dancers to display their agility upon. This door, to make it more elastic, was placed over a hole dug in the sand, and the dancers, of whom there were four in each tent, stood on the edgeof their little stage till they began, when they stepped upon the boards, and jumped away to their hearts' content. The same scene was going on in at least fifty tents at the same time. In apout half of these tents spirits were sold, in the other half only tea. Not wishing to return through the same cloud of dust through which I had come, I left the ground early, and walked back to Kilkenny, having the road nearly to myself. Indeed, along the whole way I passed only one old man, who, like myself, had left tL6 race early, to escape the dust and bustle of a crowd. He was old, lame, and infirm, and had been so, he said, for 54 IRELAND. the last ten years, yet he told me he never missed seeing the races, for they made him feel young and vigorous again ! , On the following morning I went in search of other sights. A round tower, in perfect preservation, stands on an elevation about 100 feet high, just outside of the town, and on the same elevation stands the cathedral, a building of great interest, and at a little distance are the ruins, Of some old abbeys. On this spot the first ecclesiastical establishment in Ireland is said to have been formed by a holy missionary who came over about thirty years before St; Patrick. FROM KILKENNY TO WATERFORD. From Kilkenny to Waterford the traveller rolls down hill along with all the waters Of the country. The Suir, the Nore, and the Barrow, the three most cbnsiderable rivers of Ireland, flow in this direction. They all unite near Wa terford, bearing limpid waves and verdant mead ows in their train, and combine to form a mul titude of charms in the vicinity of that city. At six in the morning we mounted our dili gence cars. It was still somewhat dark, yet l|ght enough to recognise a group of gloomy figures that had gathered round the carriage.' They were poor women, whom hunger had .driven thus early from their beds. Their ¦plaintive chorus was truly heartrending. They begged us, if we would not each give some thing, to make up a sixpence between us, and they would divide, it among themselves in half pennies. When they saw that eur hearts con tinued unmoved, they led forward a blind old woman, tuid brought her so close to the side of the car thi.it we could see the hollow cavities of her eyes. "There, your honours, there's mis ery for you. Give her a trifle, your honours, if it's only a pei.my, that you may prosper on your journey ; that God may guard your precious eyesight, and bring you back safe to your homes." The poor blind woman received sbme tokens of our compassion, and the others there upon became less importunate on their own ac count. I have often noticed among the Irish beggars, that the wretched would modestly step back and make room for those more wretched •than themselves. Travellers in Ireland cannot speak too often of the extreme misery of the Irish poor, if it be only to confute those among the English who will not believe in the exist ence of this misery, and who even ridicule those who speak of it on the evidence of their own eyes. Decay, rags, beggary, and want stare one in the face everywhere in Ireland. In the wilds of Clare, Donegal, Mayo, and; Kerry, it is true, wretchedness presents itself in its most hideous forms ; but it is not only there that abject poverty forces itself upon our attention. We meet with it even in the most beautiful and fruitful regions, for Irish poverty is none of Nature's making; it is the work of men ; the work partly of cruel laws enacted by Englishmen, and partly of the natural indolence of the Irish themselves. In the beautiful dis trict that we traversed on our way to Water ford, poverty, want, and destitution presented, themselves in their accustomed abundance. J walked the last few miles to Waterford, a gentleman of the party offering to show me the way along some by-paths. We stopped to look at some workmen' employed on, a new road, vis ited a few poor farmhouses, and inspected the ruins of Dunkit.a small Danish, castle, between whose wall's some blackberry-bushes were still in bloom, at this advanced period of the season. The climate of Ireland is not calculated to ac celerate either the unfolding of the blossom or the ripening of the fruit. The corn grows so slowly that, though the summer seed may be put into the gtound six weeks soonerthan in those parts of the European continent that lie under the same latitude, yet the harvest is usually gathered in nearly six weeks later. In the north, we have countries where the life' of Nature may be said to blaze up into flames for a few weeksin summer, and then to sink again into dust and ashes. In Irelard, Nature never bursts into a flame, nor ever becomes dust and ashes, but continues to glimmer away, all the year round, like a lighted sod of turf. WATERFORD. Waterford and Wexford are cities founded by the Danes, and were retained by them longer than any other part of the country. Hence their Saxon names. Irish geography is full of these Saxon names,, received either, from the Danes or the English. Nor are these foreign denomi nations confined to towns; or to the works of human hands. We have the Blackwater Riv er, the Hungry Hills, near. Bantry ; the Keep er Mountain, near Limerick ; and many others. The islands and promontories bear mostly Eng lish names ; but many of these are, in reality, mere corruptions of the original Celtic, and, af ter all, the Celtic names are those which every where prevail, even within that part of the. coun try which long, constituted what was termed the English pale. The names of English origin are generally known by the terminations ford, town, borough, &c. Those of Celtic origin may be known by the syllables Bally, Dun, Rath, Glen, Kil, Ennis, &c. Bally means a town, and occurs in Ballyna-. sloe, Ballyporeen, Ballyshannon, Ballymahon, and others. Dun is the old famous Celtic word for hill, and occurs in many continental names, from Dun kirk to the confines of Italy. In Ireland We have Dundrum, Dundalk, Dunmore, Dunkerin, Dungarvon, &C. Rath means nearly the same as Dun, and Glen signifies a valley. Kil is the ancient word for church, and in numerable places in Ireland begin with this syl lable, as Kilkenny, Killarney, Killaloe, Kildare Killala, Kilbegs, &c. Waterfofd is the sixth city in Ireland with about 30,000 inhabitants. Twenty years ago it contained 28,700, and may therefore be consid ered to have remained stationary, as has been the case with most of the towns in the south of Ireland. Even in Cork, from 1821 to 1831, the population increased only from 100,658, to 107,016 inhabitants; whereas, in Belfast, du ring the same period, the augmentation was no less than forty-two per cent., in Galway twenty, in londonderry sixteen,;. and in Newry thirty per cent. IRELAND 55 If Waterford has not, hoVevBr, increased .much in population during the last twenty years, it has increased vastly in the amount of its exports, which, accord ing to official returns, haye more than doubled. The same number of men, it would therefore seem must haye twice as much employment as formerly- The chief article of export from Waterford is grain to England, and this branch of trade has gone on constantly increasing, till it amounts now to live times what it was forty years ago. In 1802 the export of grain to England, from all Ireland, amounted to 461,000 quarters, and remained neariy at this point till 1808, when it Teached 656,000 quarters. There was aslow in crease till 1818, when the amount was 1,200,000 quarters. In 1825 it was two millions, in 1837 three millions,, and in 1838 it reached its maximum, or 3,447,000 .quarters. Since then there has beep a falling off, but the amount is still upward pf two millions, chiefly oafs. . Waterford has two great commercial advap- tages.: an admirable quay, apd one qf the finest. harbours in Ireland. The quay along the river side is a mile in length, and so broad and conve-. Client that it must be invaluable to merchants: and seamen. Nor less so to painters, on ac count of the fine buildings that border it, and the picturesque views that present themselves on the other sidle of the river, here about half a mile broad. The harbour, formed by the mouth of the Suir, is broad, deep, apd unincumbered by islands or sandbanks, and is not without some nesemblance to the Bay of Cove, near Cork. The estuary, of the Suir runs ten or fifteen miles ¦ into the lapd, and then divides, ipto two arms, the Suir to the west, and to the north the Bar row, which, at New Ross, receives the waters of the Nore. The country traversed by these rivers belongs to the most beautiful districts of Ireland. I took my tea that evening at an inn where a room had been fitted up expressly for the use of. repealers. From the street you could read the inscription "Repeal Rooms" op the win- • do.ws. These repeal rooms are found in many Irish towns, apd are generally attended by the advocates of repeal, busily engaged in the pe- . rusal of the Irish and English opposition pa^ pers. Most of the provincial papers of Ireland are, qf course, opposition papers. In Waterford alone. three pf them are published. The lead ing tpry paper, in Ireland is the Dublin, Evening Mail, which.I never sew in any ope of the re peal rooms I visited. Now we, in Germany, if we were ever such zealous repealers, we should sometimes read ihe Mail, were it only to know what our opponents said of us ; but in England 1 the several parties are so engrossed by their own interests, that they read only what is said on their own side of the question, scarcely troubling, themselves, apparently, about the ar guments of their opponents, and takingon trust what their own advocates tell them of the " treasonable and infamous machinations" of those on the other side. At Waterford the eastern districts of Ireland may be said to commence. In the southwest — in Bantry, in Kerry, and in Clare— thesouth- ern nations, the Phoenicians, the Spaniards, and French, have effected their several landings ; at . Waterford, on, the other hand, begins the line of CQast which has always been easiest pf access to those coming from the east — to the Danes, the Welsh, and the English. Waterford and Wexford were the first and the last points oc cupied by the Dahes^ It was between Water ford and Wexford that the celebrated Strong- bow landed. Henry the Second landed at Wa terford, and thence effected his conquest of the island, and there too Cromwell landed, and, ad vancing into the heart of the country, con quered Ireland once more. The city is full of reminiscences of Cromwell. The rock whence he cannonaded Waterford is still shown to stran gers, and a ruined tower at the end of the quay still bears marks of Cromwell's bullets ; nor is this the only piece of Irish masonry from which no attempt has since been made to obliterate the traces or repair the breaches left by Crom well's soldiers. In the political condition of Ireland also, he has left wounds which time has not yet been able to heal. Cromwell's time coincided with our Thirty Years' War, and; in many respects, thfe two would' admit of a close comparison ; but the wounds inflicted on Ger many by that war are almost forgotten, the ru ins it left have disappeared. In Ireland, wounds neither heal nor are forgotten. The country bleeds from a thousand sores, many of them Of old standing. Yet Ireland has too much tena city of life to die away entirely, though she has never had energy enough to rouse herself to a healthy condition. FROM WATERFORD TO WEXFORD When I came to the river-side, on the fol lowing morning, it was IOw water Several vessels were lying on their' broadsides in the mud; and above the beautiful bridge of Water ford almost all the water seemed to have run out of the Suir. As the tide rose, however, the sandbanks and the mud were covered, the ships floated again, fhe landscape was again, reflected in its' watery mirror, apd our steamer was able to rush forth on her noisy path. 'This steamer was called the Repealer, arid being patronized by all the repealers was, sometimes, called the People's Steamer. On the flag was inscribed, " Hurrah for the Repeal of the Union !" O'Con nell may therefore boast at his' meetings that the cause of repeal is now progressing by steam. Not that upon this occasion it could be said to go far, for the steamer was only bound to New Ross, and an opposition "boat was panting and splashing along by the side of ours. •' If I had hot sailed dowp the Firth of Clyde, I should have been ready to admit this trip a|ong the arms of Waterford harbour to be one of the finest in the United Kingdom. The wa ters flow through the deep and convenient bays more rapidly than through a lake, yet as the projecting hills completely conceal the sea, the traveller is tempted to believe himself on a lake, and looks with wonder at the mighty vessels ascending the river towards Waterford. Some times the bapks rise into gentle elevations, studded with country-seats and parks, at other times they rise abruptly into lofty rocks, crown ed with trees. Not far below Waterford are seen the exten sive ru'ns of Dunbrpdy Abbey, among the most celebrated ruins of all frelphd, where thev hold 56 IRELAND. nearly the same rank as those of Melrose do in Scotland. They lay far from our view, like the days of Dunbrody's greatness, and the Repealer, with the opposition boat treading on her heels, had no time to stop and contemplate picturesque objects. To be sure it was not long before we had the pleasure of seeing the oppositionist run herself aground on a sandbank, where, our cap tain drily remarked, she must lie lill the tide raised her ; nevertheless the Repealer could not afford to be behind her time at New Ross; so we turned our back upon Dunbrody and. began to ascend the stream of the beautiful Barrow. On board of an Irish steamer entertainment is seldom wanting. Even on the quarter-deck there is twice as much conversation as on board of an English steamer, and on the fore castle we had not only music but also dancing. Paddy, to whom an old door suffices for the flooring of a ball-room, finds it, of course, diffi cult to resist the temptation of a spacious deck, on which some room remains, in spite of all the butter-casks, meal-sacks, and hencoops, to say nothing of pigs and cattle. He lays his stick and his sorrows aside, and, with a merrier face than the man of five thousand a year can gen erally boast of, snatches the hand of some half- resisting girl, and, in a joyous jig or reel, shakes his rags as briskly as though they were the jingling lappets of a motley garb. The paddle- wheels beat time to the dance, and the lovely banks of the Barrow enclose the spectacle with a decoration such as the stars of the ballet might sigh for in vain at Drury Lane or the Opera. Beautiful seats belonging to the families of Power, Asmond, and others, lay scattered along the banks ; and near Castle Ennis, in a large open meadow, I saw one of the finest, largest, and most picturesque oaks I had ever seen in my life. It was doubly interesting to me to look upon these chateaux, for I had by my side an Irish priest, who was sketching to me the histpries of the several families that resided in them. In one, he told me, lived an old lady, the widow of a distinguished rebel, who was beheaded during the last great rebellion. In passing a rock we fired off our guns in compliment to the memory of a sailor, who, some months previously, had fallen overboard there, and been drowned. The sound was echoed back from the rocks, and the manes of the deceased, I have no doubt, were highly gratified by the honour shown them. At New Ross we anchored, and, as this point is esteemed the most beautiful along the whole Barrow navigation, it would have been well worth while to have halted there, if only to view the upper banks of the Barrow, which are said to surpass the lower ones in beauty, but my travelling companion wished to avail himself of the fine night, and accordingly, at eleven o'clock, we started in a jaunting-car for Wexford, a distance of about twenty miles. The country between New Ross and Wexford is tolerably level, and of great fertility, and this is the character of nearly the whole of the county of Wexford, one of the districts of Ire land that has many claims upon the attention of a stranger. From the official returns it would appear to be the county in which public morality stood highest, for ft is that in which the fewest crimes occur ; and I found, in look ing over the returns, that, though the murders for all Ireland ranged between 160 and 300,' yet there were frequently years in which no crime of the kind was committed in the county of Wexford. The people of Wexford I found, moreover, considered themselves much more intelligent and enlightened than their country men to the west, and the Barony of Forth, the south-eastern peninsula, cut off from the rest of the county by the hills of Forth, is said to contain the must orderly people in all Ireland- It was originally a Welsh colony, planted by Strongbow, and during seven centuries these colonists have kept themselves apart from the rest of the population. They still marry only among themselves, and in the last century they still understood Welsh. The most remarkable- characteristic of the barony, however, is, that it contains no beggars. It is as difficult, in Ire land, to imagine a district without beggars, as, in other countries, to believe in the existence of a whole nation of them. In short, the Bar ony of Forth is to the county of Wexford, what the latter is to Ireland. In Wexford, the land: is divided into a number of small estates, in stead of being concentrated in a few hands. There are no large proprietors, but all the more persons of moderate wealth, and absenteeism is almost unknown. All this prevails to a still greater extent in the Barony of Forth, where' the peasants are generally the owners; of the soil they till, dwell in clean and orderly houses, and, seem to feel that rags are, at all events, a deformity. Their cottages are sur rounded by flower-gardens, they mingle not in the political squabbles by which the rest of Ire land is kept in hot water, and protestants and catholics dwell among them in peace and good will. In a word, the Barony of Forth presents a moral picture that naturally awakens the in quiry, " And why is it not even so throughout the rest of Ireland V At the halfway house we took a fresh horse, and stepped into the public room to recruit our selves with a glass of whisky. We found there a number of temperance men, all decorated with their medals, and who, though constantly in the vicinity of the spirit-bottles, never — sn» the hostess assured us — dreamed of calling for " a drop." They told us they had most of them been formerly habitual drunkards, but felt them selves more happy than they could describe in their altered condition. These men appeared to me like wild beasts, that, of their own ac cord, had bound themselves in chains, and now displayed their chains with pride and sat isfaction. When one thinks of the charms that the poisonous fire-water must have, in a damp, cool climate, for a poor, thinly clad man, whose mind is seldom otherwise than dejected, it is- difficult to imagine that the constant sight of the whisky-bottle should not subject them to the tortures of Tantalus. Father Mathew formed the subject of their conversation, and in their hands they had large printed bills announcing an impending visit of the apostle's to Wexford. Perhaps my German readers may not be displeased to see a literal translation of one of these bills. Here it is. At the top, in letters of enormous size, waa ¦printed : "Father Mathew in Wbxfobd !" and IRELAND. 57 then the document proceeded thus : " The tee totalers and the friends of the temperance cause are hereby informed that it is in contemplation to form a public procession, to consist of the Total Abstinence Societies of Wexford, and of all the Teetotalers who may be willing to join in doing honour to one so well deserving of it ; and this procession, it is intended, shall proceed as far as Arkandrish, to meet the Very Rever end Theobald Mathew, on his way from New Ross to Wexfoid. Each society will be accom panied by its own band, and the members are invited to muster on Wexford Quay precisely at half-past nine o'clock." As we were apprpaching the city of Wex ford, we again passed several country-seats, and my companion was wicked enough to in itiate me into the family, affairs of many of the occupiers, then buried in profound sleep, and little aware of the scandalous chronicle in which many of them were made to figure. One of them he described to me as a great sporting man ; another as a young man who, in his time, had been distinguished in London for his achievements in breaking lamps, knocking down watchmen, and kicking up riots, but who had since got married, and lived very quietly in the happy county of Wexford. A third was de scribed as a reading man, of whose books and studies I was told many wonderful things. These reading men, sporting men, and kicking- up-riots young men, are. standing figures in England, and are met with in all parts of the country. A few miles before reaching Wexford the road runs along the sea-shore, where my atten tion was directed to a little natural curiosity, consisting of several small islands running in a straight line into the sea. They are connected by a narrow sandbank, which is dry at low wa ter, and then presents the appearance of a long tongue of land, along which a carriage may drive to the extreme point. This strip of land is called St. Patrick's Bridge. Many other nat, ural curiosities in Ireland have, in a similar way, been made the property of the patron saint. It is matter of wonder to me that the Giant's Causeway shduld not also have been given to him rather than to Fingal ; but with this giant the saint has often been obliged to go shares, and at times even with the Devil. WEXFORD. Wexford, which I viewed on the following morning, is an old town, full of narrow streets and small buildings. The only broad and hand some thoroughfare is the Quay, which runs along the side of Wexford Haven. The har bour of Wexford is distinguished as possessing more ships of its own than any other in Ireland. Many vessels are -built here, and American and Baltic timber, and Irish oak, are goods seen everywhere. Here, for the first time, I saw an interesting piece of machinery called Perkins's Patent Slip, by means of which vessels in the' course of building are raised and lowered ac cording as the state of the tide requires. Such machines are found in so small a place as Wex ford, and are not found even in the largest of our German seaport towns ! A gentleman to whom this machine belonged, and who had daily to attend to the raising and lowering of it, told me that the tide generally rose only four feet, and that spring tides rarely exceeded six feet and a half. At Waterford. the common tides rise ten feet, and extraordi nary ones sixteen. At Tuskar Rock, on which a lighthouse stands, a few miles from Camsore Point, the tides sometimes rise as much as twenty-two feet, and here appears to be the limit between the high tides of the Atlantic, and the low ones of the Irish Sea. Local causes, however, such as the multitude of sandbanks in Wexford Haven, may contribute to make the tide so insignificant at Wexford. The irregularity in the recurrence of the tides is another anomaly at this place, and one which I can in no way explain to myself. There is another place in Ireland where a similar irregu larity is remarked, and I will therefore reserve, for a future time, a few remarks which suggest themselves to me on the subject. In Wexford I had an opportunity of admiring what I had before admired, in many Irish sea port towns — namely, the way in Which an Irish. porter carries a sack of flour. A porter in Ger many generally bends down, grasps the sack in his arms, and swings it upon his shoulder. la England, the heaviest loads are carried on the head, or rather on the back of the neck. For this purpose, the men have a peculiar kind of cushion, which is fastened to the back of the head, by a broad band that passes round over the forehead. This cushion is made to fitto the neck, is'broad and flat at the top, and upon this, resting partly on the head, but ehiefly on the nape of the neck, astonishing weights are sometimes carried. These "knots," as they are called, are seen in Ireland likewise, and as porters in England are generally Irishmen, the knot may be an Irish invention for aught I know. Sacks of flour, however, are not car ried in Ireland on knots. The porters place the burden on their backs, and then bring their arms, not over their shoulders, but round below to support the sacks. No manner of carrying, it appears to me, can be more unsuitable to the whole construction of our bodies, and I am dis posed to set this invention down among Paddy** practical blunders. We often see in a small place what we have neglected at a large one, and so it happened that at Wexford I visited one of the many hun dreds of infant schools, now established in all parts of England and Ireland. The schools are particularly interesting in Ireland, on account of the mixture of protestant and, catholic chil dren that takes place there, and may even be taken as a proof of the advancing spirit of tol eration. In the school which I visited at Wex ford, and which, like most infant schools in Ire land, had existed for five years, there were ninety-one catholic and thirty protestant chil dren. They generally remain there till their 12th year, but even after that age the catholics continue to send their daughters to the infant schools, because, as the teachers told me, the parish schools Were inferior to these elementary establishments. The protestant children, on the contrary, being better provided for, do not remain at the infant schools beyond the usual time. The instruction at English infant schools is 58 IRELAND. conveyed in poetical fprrn, the little pupils learn ing short verses,' which they repeat or sing in chorus, accompanying it sometimes even with pantomimic gesticulation. Indeed, a|most ev ery general movement of the school is ushered in by song. When coming to the school,, for instance, the children sing a verse like the fol lowing : " We'll, go to our places, and, make no wry faces, And say all our lessons distinctly and slow; For if we don't do it, our mistress Will know it, And into the corner we surely shall go." When I reached the school, all the little things were in the garden. When summoned hy their mistress's bell, they immediately join ed hands, and marched in a long procession into the school-room, chanting a poem, of which- the above lines formed the first verse. The melody I recognised immediately as the "In- iapt's March," an, old British national njelody, which Ihad often heart in Ireland. The chil dren all looked cheerful, and sung out as loud «nd lustily as they could ; even the little, three- year-old things, that couid not join in the song, •opened their mouths to a full stretch, as if they "expected cherries to fall into> them. AH the regular school lessons are in a similar manner put into verse, and to learn and repeat these .verses constitutes the chief instruction of the -children. They have the multiplication table in rhyme, as well as an alphabet, and a course of natural history. The teacher, while repeat ing her metrical lesson, shows the letter, or a picture of the animal referred to„ and the pic tures used in the English infant schools for this purpose are really excellent in their kind. To each lion, ox, or elephant, or to each A, X, or Z, the children have some suitable verse which "they sing in chorus. They have also a little pantomime performance, accompanied by a song, in which the little things imitate all ima ginable actions with their hands and feet. The sowing apd reaping of the husbandman, the pla ning of the carpenter, the hammering of the smith, and the churning of the dairymaid, are imitated by all the children at once, accompa nying their little gesticulations with some sim ple ditty, beginning : " Thjs is the way the -carpenter planes ;" " This is the way we snuff the candle ;" " This is the way we churn our butter," &c. Each subject is followed by some instructive remarks relative to the carpenter's -object in planing his board, to the good effects -of snuffing the candle, or to the excellence of butter when put upon bread, with an Injunctipn to thqse who have more bread-and-butter than they want, to give of their superfluity to those who have none. I never saw any of these verses except in manuscript, and the teachers told me they had either made them themselves, or copied them from the collections of others. Many objects are attained at once by this pantomime and song. The children. are made attentive to a multitude of little occurrences Witnessed by them daily. Moreover, when they grow up, they are all of them, more or less, to be smiths, labourers, semstresses, and butter-chumers, and it can hardly fail in after life to enliven the more serious hours of me chanical occupation,, tp look back on the days oi infancy, when the busy movement was mimicked in concert by a hundred little arms, and ttye sportive labour was cheered by a merry song. Then, in performing their little panto mime, the children leave their places, take some exercise, and interrupt the tedium of long sitting ; and, lastly, the voice and ear are thus kept in constant practice. The wonder to me was how the little ones first began to learn these verses. The teacher, of course, has not time to teach them separately to each child, and they are learned, in consequence, in a great measure without teaching. The smallest chil dren begin by imitating the movement of the hands ; then they open their mouths, and catch a word here and there. The rhyming words gradually impress themselves on the memory, and thus, by adding word to word, a whole verse is learned at length, and the verse, in turn, gives birth to the clear and fruitful idea. This system of conveying instruction by means of little metrical tasks intended to be commit ted to memory, is much in favour in England", and prevails at Eton as well as in ihe infant schools. As m.any very young children visit these infant schools, to whom it might scarcely be possible to keep their attention awake for several hours, a bedstead, for the accommoda tion of these juvenile students when overtaken by slumber, is among the customary furniture of the school-room. We cannot expect, at the end of only five years, to see a very visible effect produced upon the present generation by these infant schools. Yet the effect must be an important one. Thous ands of children that would otherwise have run wild about the streets, or have grown up in idle ness in wretched hovels, enjoy now the advan tage of a rational superintendence, and of a temporary asylum far better than the parental roof can offer them. There is a great desire for instruction among the Irish, and such being the case, it is difficult not to rest sanguine hopes on the host of new schools that are starting up in all parts of the country. I do not remember to have passed through any Irish town, in which I did not see a spick and span new school-house, and a distillery either shut up or going evidently to decay. In Wexford there were formerly seven breweries, of which only one is now in a prosperous condition. In New Ross, whence we came, and in Enniscorthy, whither ,we were going, the principal distilleries had all been closed. These are the facts to make a man cry "Hear, hear!" and "One cheer more!" These are things that to a traveller whose heart is in the right place, convey more real enjoyment, than the conteiriplation of the finest scenery or the most magnificent monuments. I have already spoken of the new catholic churches and steeples tba,t. present themselves in almost every large Irish town. In Wexford, we saw another neW catholic building, namely a handsome catholic college. "Our young priests," the Irish say, "have no longer occa sion to go to Rome or Paris, if they wish to learn something." Add tq these the neWly- erected poor-houses that are scattered over all Ireland, and we shall have named, pretty nearly all the new buildings of the country, and shall have indicated, at the same time, the principal points from which the moral destitution of the country is to be attacked ; the poor-houses will direct their assaults against the widely-spread Jj;R;E,LA;N;D. 59 evils, of mendicancy; the school-houses against popular ignorance,, and the new catholic church- es.and college against the odious system of re ligious servitude. Upon the whole avery fair idea.roay.be, fornix Cd qf an Irish town of the present day,, hy im agining it to consist of the following elements : a number of handsome buildings, and about an, equal number of ruinous dwellings, a, quantity of wretched suburban huts, some newandwell- huilt national and infant, schools, some old and' some new catholic churches, a fever hospital,, an extensive^ workhouse that looks like a for tress, and perhaps a barrack or two for soldiers. The workhouses, I say, look like fortresses. They generally lie on a height outside the town, probably for the benefit of fresh air. They are built of a firm gray stone, are surrounded by high, walls, and are generally decorated by, little turrets and other castellated, appendages. They are visible, at a great distance, and are the ter ror of all Irish beggars, who infinitely prefer a vagabond independence to the constraint and comfort of ope of these establishments. In some places, no workhouses have yet been erected, and in such districts it is that the Irish beggars swarm in greater masses than else where. Formerly the poor of the country were maintained exclusively by private benevolence, which, in no part of the United Kingdom was exercised more freely than in Ireland. This private charity is now in some measure brought ip to collision with the system of order attempt ed to he introduced by the state. The Irish, full of the spirit of kindness, do not like to ha ve limits placed to the exercise qf their private benevolence, and are, in consequence, doubly taxed by the imposition of a poor-rate ; so that, un the whole, they are anything but friendly to the reform lately introduced among them. Not only the beggars, therefore, but the habitual almsgivers also, look with an unfriendly eye Upon poor-rates, and workhouses, which they imagine will never be able to hpld their ground lin, the country. It, is to be hoped that their wishes and expectations in this respect may never be realized, for whatever inconveniences may be inseparable from a transition from the maintenance of the poor by private charity,, to their maintenance by the state, there cannot he a doubt that the; latter is, the preferable, system. Wexford, during the last great rebellion, was the scene of almost unexampled atrocity. There is a bridge built over a narrow part of the bay. To this bridge the rebels, then in possession of the town, brought their English and protestant prisoners, and flung them into the water. Mul- grave, in his celebrated "Memoirs of the Irish Rebellion," now rarely to be met with, says that the prisoners were speared at the same moment from before and behind, and then lifted up on the pikes and thrown over the. parapet, of the bridge. These are matters yet, fresh in the .memory of many , living men, and when we think how rich in atrocities is the. history qf Irish insurrections, a. man scarcely ventures, to rely much on the present tranquillity, or to feel much confidence that similar scenes may not be acted again at no great distance of time. ENNISCORTHY AND THE IRISH CLER GY. Enniscorthy is an ancient town. "An old tqwn, a, very old town, sir," saifl. my compan ion on the. road, a, gentleman in the, commercial line : " for you see, sir, my grandfather lived there before me." I do npt kppw that I ever met with such. laughers anywhere as,in Ireland. They wMl make bull after bull, and you can of ten not tell whether intentionally or otherwise, but they seldom fail, to laugh heartily at the em anations of their own wit. My present com panion was an immoderate laugher, lie fold me we should soon be at Enniscorthy, and thereupon he laughed . aloud ; this he followed up by a remark, that we might, possibly, go on to Dublin together, and this again brought on a fit of boisterous merriment. Having time in ihe evening, before sunset, my laughing companion and, I ascended Vine gar Hill, a place of some celebrity in Irish rev olutionary history, and lying close to Enniscor thy. Here a decisive battle was fought in 1798 between, the English troops and, the Irish rebels, and, of the, latter many were hanged', by way of retaliation for the murders, at Wexford bridge. All these incidents afforded, matter of mirth to my. companion, and as I thought he might have some recollection, from his, younger days, of the details of the war, I began to question him. about the origin and causes of the rebellion, but all I could gather from him was, that the ' people " began by burning houses," and " ended <-¦ by knocking everything to pieces." These in cidents of rebellion and civil war are full of sig nificance even at the present day, for O'Connell takes care to keep alive the echo of their din, and avails himself of the artillery of a former century in his wordy war against the England of the present day. Enniscorthy, as my companion expressed himself, is " a capital place for the wool trade." It enjoys greater celebrity, however, as the me tropolis of Irish Quakers, who. hold a great an nual assembly. in, a meeting-house here. I was assured here, and in many other places in Ire land, that the Quakers were relaxing very much in the strictness of their principles, as well as in the singularity of their costume. Unbecom ing, however, as is their dress, particularly that of the women, it is not, to be denied that many lovely faces may be seen peeping out from un der their hideous bonnets. " There are some of the finest girls in the country among them," said my companion ; "one in particular I know, so beautiful that I can never think of her with out laughing." Whereupon he laughed heartily again. At Enniscorthy lies one of Strongbows's cas tles; Another I had seen on my way from Wexford, That at Enniscorthy lies on an ele vation within the town, is flanked by four, tur rets, and not only in perfect preservation, but even affords a very comfortable residence to an ecclesiastic of the established church. These dwellings of a remote antiquity are not often found in English towns, but in the country fre quently. With this ecclesiastic, a polished and well-informed man, and an excellent specimen of a Tory gentleman, I spent a most agreeable and instructive evening, seated, at an oaken ta- 60 IRELAND. ble three hundred years old, and the tree from which it was made must have stood at least six hundred years in the forest. Since the last " clipping" of the revenues of the Irish protestant clergy, the rector of Ennis corthy had been reduced from £2100 to about £1000 a year ; but it must not be supposed that every protestant clergyman has been reduced to the same extent. The bishops and archbishops are those from whom the least has been taken, and the necessity of a further clipping is suf ficiently shown by a reference to the table of the revenues of the Irish dignitaries. There are in all twenty-two Anglican bishops and archbishops in Ireland, only five less than in England.* Upon the whole, the Irish bishops are better paid than those of England ; for the average income of the former is £7000 .a year, and of the latter £6000. Four English bishops have less than £2000 a year ; in Ireland there is not one whose income falls below that amount. The two richest sees in England are those of Canterbury and Durham, each exceeding £ 1 9,000 a year. The richest in Ireland is that of Ar magh, with a yearly revenue of £15,000. The general body of the Irish protestant clergy is also better off than that of England. In the latter country the average value of a living is £285 a year, whereas in Ireland it is £372. The gross income of the bishops and archbishops of Ireland is £151,127, while those of England have a revenue of £181,031. Eight millions of Irishmen, therefore, of whom six millions are catholics, pay nearly as much to their protestant bishops as fifteen millions of Englishmen, who are mostly protestants. This may serve as a standard by which to estimate the extent of the injustice to which the Irish are subjected by ex isting laws and institutions. The name that prevails in and about Ennis corthy is Murphy, and at the chateau of one gentleman of this name, the crown is still pre served, which his ancestors are said to have worn as kings of Mnnster. How many are the rusty, dusty crowns still preserved in different parts of Europe ! and of many the present pos sessors still cherish the hope that a day will come when they may burnish up their baubles again. FROM ENNISCORTHY TO THE VALE OF AVOCA. On the road from Enniscorthy to Arklow we passed the ruins of Ferns, the ancient residence of Mac Morough, the last king of Leinster, who invited Strongbow and the English over to Ire land, and by so doing transferred his own regal power to the stranger. From the battlements of the ruined castle of Ferns an iron basket is sus pended, to be used for illuminations on the re currence of certain great national holidays. I have remarked similar iron baskets on other Tuined castles in Ireland. From one end of the county of Wexford to the other the landscape retained its pleasing and cultivated character. The hedges with which the fields were enclosed consisted gen erally of furze, and these being in blossom, pro- * Mr. Kohl appears not to liave been aware of the ex tent to which the Episcopal establishment in Ireland was reduced by the Church Temporalities Bill of 1833.— 7V. 1 duced a highly pleasing effect with their yellow flowers. Here and there a field was enclosed by young fir-trees— "a nice fancy taste," as was observed by one of our fellow-passengers, of whom the coachman had taken care to in form me, that he was a play-actor from Dublin. Pleonasms of this kind are " genuine Irish." With a fine road before us, and an opposition coach behind us, we rolled at a rapid pace into the county of Wicklow. We did not even al low ourselves time, when passing through small places, to hand over in an orderly manner the letters and parcels intended for the people whose houses we passed. They were merely thrown. out towards the houses for which they were di rected. This is a common practice in England. Generally, indeed, some one is waiting to catch the parcel or mail-bag thrown from the coach as it passes along ; but if nobody present himself for that purpose, the coachman simply throws the article intrusted to him in at the house-door, or over the garden-wall, after first lifting ^he object high in the air, or otherwise calling the attention of the inmates Of the dwelling. In a similar way the coachman, without stopping his horses, catches the parcels which he is to for ward to their places of destination. On the English railways the carriages for the convey ance of letters and parcels have often large nets to catch up parcels thrown from the stations at which the trains do not stop. We passed the neighbourhood where a few years ago a landed proprietor, of the name of O'Brien, was murdered in open day, and in a field where several labourers were at work ; and yet the murderer still continues unknown- So difficult, is it te carry the law into force ms-' Ireland, where so large a portion of the popula tion, even where they do not lend a hand to the murder, at all events sympathize with the mur derer. In Ireland, not one-half of the commit tals for crimes lead to conviction, whereas more than two-thirds of the committals in England and Scotland are followed by convictions. In. looking over the tables of criminal statistics,. I find, that in one year there were in England 24,443 committals, and 17,832 convictions, be ing in the proportion of eight to five and four- fifths ; in the same year, the committals in Ire land were 26,392, and the convictions 12,049, or in the ratio of eight to three and two-thirds. In another year I find, in Ireland, 23,822 commit tals, andll,194 convictions ; and in England;, in the same year, 27,187 committals, and 19,927 convictions. From this it would appear to be twice as difficult to bring a criminal to justkie- in Ireland compared to England. In all the small places through which we passed, we heard heavy complaints of the swarms of beggars by which they were inun dated, in consequence of the poor having been driven out of the larger towns, by the erection of the new workhouses. The last of these small places was Gorey, a few miles beyond which we entered the highly-prized county of Wicklow, whose pyramidal hills had been beckoning to us for some time. The whole of this county is mountainous, and nearly on every side it is sur rounded by plains.' The mountains have all aa elegant pointed form, and the highest among them, the Lugnagilla, the Kippure, and the Douce, rise to a height of 3000 feet, nearly the IRELAND. 01 highest elevation that occurs in Ireland. The, greater part of the waters that flow down from their several glens are united in the little river of Avoca, that falls' into the sea at Arklow. THE VALE OF AVOCA AND MOORE'S POEMS. Interesting and romantic points abound in all parts of tbo county, but the most celebrated of these is the Vale of Avoca, and particularly the spot where the tributary waters meet to gether. The Vale of Avoca is as fondly prized in Ireland, as the Vale of Vaucluse is in south ern , France. To beautiful objects beautiful names often unite themselves. Avoca has quite an Italian sound. Many names with an Italian sound occur in Ireland. Portumna, on the Shannon ; Liscanor Bay, on the coast of Clare ; Garomna, Castello, and Connemara, in Connaught ; Marino and Matilla, near Dublin. Are these names all of Celtic origin, or are not *orae of them importations from Italy 1 Beautifully picturesque groups of oaks and beeches, everywhere bung with ivy, constitute one of the main beauties of the Vale of Avoca. This, to some extent, is the character of all the valleys of Wicklow, through which rivers flow, while the summits of the mountains, and tbe unwatered vales, remain completely bare. The Irish oak differs materially in appearance from the English oak, yet this difference, so striking that you notice it at the first glance, is difficult to describe. The branches are less knotted and spreading. There seem to me to be more straight lines and fewer crooked ones, more length and less breadth in the Irish oak. On the other hand, the Irish assure us, the wood of their oaks is harder and more lasting, though the trees may be smaller than those found in England, and Irish oak, I was told, was preferred in Eng land for superior kinds of carved work. The carved roof in Westminster Hall, for instance, is said to consist of Irish oak. In the Vale of Avoca, however, the chief beauty of the oaks consists in the rich drapery of ivy by which they are surrounded. Not;a tree in the whole valley is without the decoration, and it is highly inter esting to examine the varied and numberless forms, in which the dependent plant winds it self around the noble •columns of the sylvan temple. Here a solitary parasite is stealing up the rugged bark of some sturdy forester, while a little farther on hundreds have attached them selves to one stem, and by its site a wasted lifeless trunk is made rich in verdure to the ex treme summits of its withered branches. At the autumnal season, when I visited the place, the leaves of the oaks were already faded and falling, and contrasted beautifully with the fresh green of the ivy. Spring and autumn seemed to join in an embrace. The luxuriant growth of the Irish ivy is Teally wonderful ; but beauti ful as it may be to a painter's eye, to the growth of the trees the parasitical plant must be highly detrimental, and the abundance of ivy may be among the principal causes of the scarcity of wood in Ireland. The small town of Arklow lies; at the mouth of the Avoca, close to the sea, and thence the road ascends the wooded valley, passing through the Forest of Glenart, in which are situated Gleqart Castle and Shelton Abbey, two highly picturesque buildings that face each othet . The whole way from Arklow to Rathdnim, a small town about twelve miles up the valley, abounds in the loveliest scenes. The most celebrated part, however, is that Where the Avonbeg and the Aughrim unite their waters with those of the Avoca, though Moore has not told us, wheth er, in celebrating the " meeting of the waters," he alluded to the first meeting or the second. The Irish say the first is the one he meant, ahd they even point out the tree under which he drew his first inspiration of the well-known lines: "There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet." Such are the poet's words, and the Irish take them literally. There is nothing out. of charac ter in a little exaggeration when a young poet celebrates a beautiful landscape, and calls it the " sweetest valley in the world ;" but such things must not be said in plain prose. The natives of a country entertain for it the feelings of a lover, whose ideas of the divinity of human na ture, and the loveliness of a woman, are all con centrated upon a single object. He devotes him self to this individual object, in which he studies the numberless beauties of the human soul and the human body ; and every charm that he dis covers, he looks upon as the personal merit of the beloved one, on whom he bestows the whole of that affection, which he ought to have given to the human race in general. The English call this " falling in love," and it is a condition in which a man may be said to have fallen into so deep a hole, that he can only see one star of the thousands that glitter on the horizon. Some thing like this is the feeling of the Irish for the Vale of Avoca. Its beauties have been cele brated by their poets, and journalists, till all Ire land has fallen in love with the place, as if it were the only lovely valley on the world's great round. The oft repeated lines, " There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet; Oh, the last rays of feeling and life must depart, Ere the bloom of the'valley shall fade from my heart," have probably contributed more than anything else to give birth to that general affection, so universally expressed in Ireland, for the far- famed spot, even by those who have never visit ed it. There occur in every literature short striking passages that captivate the imagination with a force for which we find it difficult, oft impossi ble, to account. Millions of fine sentences may be expended in vain, while two or three words may thrill for centuries on the hearts of a na tion. This is a power which Moore often ex ercises in a high degree, and to many a seques tered vale and ruined castle his verses have given a fame that will probably outlive monu ments of bronze or granite. In this way he has sung to us of the " gloomy shore" of the en chanting lake of Glendalough which I visited on the following day, and thus too he celebrates the beautiful isle of Innisfallen at Killarney, and Arranmore, the largest of the Arran isles, whose inhabitants are to this day convinced that from their shore they can descry Hy Brysail, the en chanted island, the Paradise of the Heathen Irish. 62 IRELAND. We commit a great mistake when we look on Moore as an English poet. , He is essentially an Irish genius, though he clothes his thoughts, feelings, and sentiments in the English language. The English may enjoy his versification, but they only half understand him, whereas the Irish idolize him. In his patriotic effusions Moore is animated by a spirit essentially anti-English. His is the sanguinary motto which O'Connell'has prefixed to his pamphlet on Ireland ; "Butonwardlthe green banner rearing, Oo, flesh ev'ry sword to ihe hilt ! On our side is virtue and Erin, On theirs is the Saxon and guilt !" O'Connell's interminable speeches will IOng have been forgptten, when the Melodies of Moore will still keep the flame of patriotism alive in the hearts of succeeding generations. Moore, indeed, may be deemed the worst agita- . tor of the two. He siirs the better affections of his countrymen against England^ He excites them to tears, to sighs, to blessings, to curses. O'Connell marches as a warrior to the field, and Moore walks' by his side, the representative of Ireland's ancient bards. Thomas Moore, Father Mathew, and Daniel O'Connell form the great triumvirate that preside at present over every moral movement in Ireland. After all, the greatest fault of the Vale of Avoca is that it is so short. How gladly would the eye feast on more of those beautiful mea dows, those bold crags, those ivy-mantled oaks ! On leaving the Avoca, We enter the Vale of Avon, in which lies the little town of Rathdrum, where my host, who likewise keeps a shop for the sale of a great variety of articles, provides the traveller with clean and comfortable roorns, and excellent accommodation. This reminds, me that I have not yet spoken a word of all the neat and comfortable rooms that I met with everywhere on my journey through Ireland. I never troubled myself much about the choice of my inn, and yet I soon felt the most perfect con viction that even in the smallest town I Should be able to lie down at night in a clean and com fortable bed. A clean and comfortable bed, however, must be with every traveller the main consideration, for the attendance is generally slow, and the cookery not to every man's taste;. The beds are usually large, so large that they' occupy nearly the whole room, leaving ohly space enough to walk round and seek a con venient spot whence to climb upon the moun tain of feathers. The refreshments consist usu ally of mutton chops, potatoes, and tea. The tea is almost always good, the potatoes half raw, and the mutton chops often so tough that you attack them with imminent risk to your teeth. Of this description were the mutter) chops placed, before me at Rathdrum, so I treat ed them as the Irish sometimes do their her rings ; I rubbed my potatoes against the brown and savoury sides of the mutton, and thus im parted to them a delicate rdti flavour. It was a new variety of " potatoes and point." Not far from Rathdrum, in the vale of Avon- more, are some copper mines that threaten de struction to the beautiful trees. The motto says, indeed, utile cum dulci, but unfortunately we often find the utile and the dulci engaged in an irreconcilable feud. Even the salmon, that formerly abounded in the Avonmore, have been banished by these copper mines. The water,. impregnated with sulphur, thrown up frpm the- copper works, is the cause of this. . When the salmon enter the Avonmore now, they either turn about again immediately, or jump upon the bank and "die dead." This is another of the many pleonasms that I have heard in Ireland, and that so frequently, that I am tempted to be lieve there is something nationally characteristic- about them. THE LAKES AND RUINS OF GLEN- DALOUGH I had heard so much of the Seven Churches- and the Round Tower of the Vale of Glendal- ough, that I spent only a few hours in Rath drum, and then hastened into the mountains on a small one-horse car ; had I known what an incomparable spot of -earth it is that is known by the name of Glendalough, the hours I spent at Rathdrum should have been reduced to as- many minutes. The road passes through the Vale of Clara, watered by the Avonmore, and then runs ten miles in a sideward direction, to the sources of some tributary streams of that river. The country is very little inhabited. Along the whole of these ten miles I saw but one village. The mountains to the north of these valleys, however, are still more thinly peopled ; so much so, that they have received the name of the " uninhabited mountains," and are in this respect quite a phenomenon; consid ering thejr vicinity to Dublin. Theyoccupy an extent of country nearly fifteen miles in length,. and ten in breadth; and within this. space, not only the mountains, but even the valleys, are al most untenanted by man. The soil is every where a thin covering of grass over a rocky bottom, and destitute of every other vegetation. Goats graze upon these mountains, and wander about there in the same half- wild condition as over the mountains of Kerry. Sometimes, in deed, they are said to become so wild, that the herdsman is forced, to turn hunter, and, instead of catching, his, goats, to shoot them. In the last rebellion, one of the insurgent chiefs kept bis ground in these uninhabited mountains long after the rest of the. country had been tranquillized. It remains incomprehensible to me, however, that so close to the metropolis of Ireland, so wild a district can exist. There are within the British dominions large districts of greater natu ral fertility than any of which we can boast, but there are likewise districts much wilder than any to be found in our less populous Germany, with all her forests and mountains. Have we a province in which goats or sheep live in a half-wild state 1 Even on our loftiest Alps, the cattle is everywhere tended and kept within some sort of enclosure. Nowhere do I remem ber in Germany to, have seen a country so utter ly wild, so thinly peopled, and that by a race living in such apparent wretchedness, as is the case with this Irish district, and with some I have seen in Scotland. These things form a part of the physiognomy of a country, and are characteristic of its social condition. A military road has been run through the wil derness, with barracks, now occupied as police stations, at certain distances from each other. . At the Laragh barracks three wild glens meet l IRELAND. Glen Avon, Glehnalnass, and that into which we have noW entered, Glendalough, We had scarcely done so, When we observed a mart in a purple coat standing in front pf a door, who, as soon as he obser fed us, jumped upon the car, and said to ' me without farther ceremony, " Your honour will allow me to ride with you, 1 hope. I am the well-known guide of Glendal ough. My name's George Irwin, With your hon our's leave." But I ought to describe the man before I allow him to speak. He had a long,' shaggy, ragged beard, that hung in patches about his chin and cheek. His features were strongly marked, his cheeks weatherbeaten and meager, his forehead high and wrinkled. A pair of sparkling eyes glowed from under these wrin kles, and from amid all these facial ruins there arose a boldly-curved aquiline nose. His voice was rude and wild, and his words came bub bling over his tongue like the wild waters of an Irish bog, over dirty rocks and mossy stones; it seemed as though his throat had suffered by a struggle of many years against the effects Of wind, weather, and whiskey. 'Tip George Irwin, your honour, the guide of Glendalough. I've lived in this wilderness from a boy, and know every corner of it by heart. I know every legend that has come down from our ancestors, from generation to generation, and there's no man living can tell you what I can. I've shown all the Wonders of the place to Sir Walter Scott, and his friend the faitious Miss Edgeworth, arid it's I was the guide of Her Most Gracioris Majesty, when she came here as princess with her royal lady mother the Duchess of Kent. There are lots of guides here to be sure, but there's none of them can boast of what I can. Now.'yoilr honour, if you'll get down from the car and follow me, it's I alone can show you properly all the fine things that lie hid in yonder valley. This way, your hon our ; this way." An'd thiis, almost by force,1 but with cdnstant demonstrations of politeness, he! led me to the lakes of Glendalough, the Glen of the Two Lakes. I must own, I never met with a more intelli gent or entertaining guide than George Irwin, artd 'I only regret that it was impossible for me to, understand all the speeches and narrations that poured almost incessantly from' his lipS; " Sir; Walter Scott, the great poet of Scotland, told me, your honour, he had never seen a spot in' the world equal for beauty to our lakes Of Glendalough ; and of the Round Tower, Which your honour shall s,ee preseh'ily, he told me it', was quile, uniqUe, artd that irt'ali'Scoiland there were only just the remains of two such towers, when we've more than a hundred in Ireland — and what beautiful and perfect ones among them ! Arid then there's our own famous pOet Thomas Moore ;"we call him plain ' Tommy,' as we allow ourselves to say ' Dan' when We speak ofthe great O'Connell. Well, I've known Tom my these forty years, and he knows me well too, arid lie's written a poem about Our lakes — ' ' By that lake.whnse gloomy shore Skylark never, warbles o'er. Where the clitf tiahgs high and sttep, Young Si. Keviri'stote to'sleep * Oh, your honour, I know every word of it, but I dare say your honour knows it too. The young princess too,' her' gracious majesty that is,' 63 was delighted with the wild charms of the scene» and I dare say it's the recollection of Glenual- ough that has determined her majesty to visit us again next year. Well, I hope, when she does, I shall have the honour of showing her over the ground again. When she was here last, she had to Skip after me and her mother, to whom I was obliged to tell everything, but when she comes next, she'll come as the mis tress of all of us. But only look now, your hon our. Here the wood becomes thinner ; and. now, as we step out of it, you have a view of the whole famous scene. These" are1 the ruins of the Seven Churches, with the Round Tower in the middle, and^the lakes and the mountains behind." The scene was indeed wonderful, and so pe culiar in its kind, that I nowhere remember to-, have seen anything like it. Wild, naked, dark, rocky mountains projected so as to form a sharp promontory. To the right of this promontory runs Glehdassan, to the left Glendalough. You look into the two glens at once through the broad rocky gates. In the amphitheatre in front lie the lowly ruins of the seven churches, and amid them, forming a central point to the whole scene, riSes the Slender tower, standing there in complete preservation in the wilderness, like Pompey's Pillar in the desert of Alexandria. Behind this antique temple lie the two far-famed lakes, like mirrors laid there to reflect the scene. The whole view was one of ruins. There were the ruins Of hature and the ruins of art. Not the least vestige of cultivatioh was to be seen. At a distance some smoke rose to mark the. dwelling of a mountaineer, and here and the're lay scattered in the valley the cabins of a few professional guides, and of some peasants who made a wretched' subsistence by Celling refresh ments to visiters. t " Its » melancholy condition in which your honour sees' it now," began Irwin again ; "but when Dublin itself was only a turf-bog, there stood here1 a flourishing town, and a great theo logical university, to which students came from; France and Germany, ay and ffoffi Italy too. This was in the first ages of Christianity. There was a college here, a convent, buildings for the students and professors, and ho less than seven cHurches. The number seven, as yohr hlihoUr knows, has always been a holy number, In the east as in1 'the West. Thete were the seven wise men of Greece, the seven wohders of the world, the seven couhbils of the bishops of Asia Minor, arid in our blessed religion we have seven sacrament's and seven deadly sins. Therefore it was that our Irish ancestors always built seven churches together, upon some of ihe most glorious spots in Erin. Most of these seven churches lie on our beautiful Shannon,. the king of all British rivers. There are four- sets of them there. First on Inchclorin, art island of Lon'gh Ree ; then there are the' seven churches of Clahm'acnoise, near Athlone ; then. there are those of Inniscaltra in Lough Derg* and 'those at Scattery Island, at the mouth of the1 Shannon. The most westerlyseven church es are those at Arranmore, where the peoples think they can see Paradise' in clear weather. «Oh, Arrannr.re, loved Arranmore, How oft I dream of thee !' Oh, I've been there; your honour, and could tell 64 IRELAND. you a deal of the islands,j'f I had not now to show you Glendalough; All these seven church es that you see before you are from the earliest times of Christianity in Ireland ; but God was worshipped in these valleys even before St. Pat- Tick's time, in the days when Ffonnulla, the daughter of Lir, was wanderingover the lakes and rivers of Ireland, and sighing for the first sound of the mass bell, that was to be the signal of her release. On the promontory there I shall show your honour some remains of Druidical temples, but here before you stands the lofty round tower built in our country by the eastern fire-worship pers. I know there are some great scholars, your honour, who deny this, and say the round towers were built for other purposes by the Christians ; but it's not true, for all the travellers that have been here have told me that nothing like these towers is to be seen in any part of Europe, or anywhere but in the East. And then, sure.wre Irish know well enough who it was that buiit these towers, and what they did it for. At daybreak, the priests of the fire-worshippers used to mount to the lop of the tower, and cry .' Baal, Baal, Baal !' to the four quarters of the compass, by way of announcing the arrival of the sun, and summoning the faithful to prayer. AH this we know well enough, for jt has been handed down to us from generation to genera tion. If it wasn't so cloudy there behind us, I could even show your honour a mountain Which is called Baal's Mountain to this day, and over the summit of which the sun becomes visible every morning from the Round Tower." _ I repeat these words of George Irwin's, be cause they express a tradition generally current among the lower Irish, and if there be not some truth in the tradition, we must believe in a won der quite as great — namely, in the existence of an illusion, almost amounting to a monomania, to which the great mass of a nation has aban doned itself. , The Round Tower of Glendalough is one of the loftiest and* most complete in all Ireland. It is 110 feet high, and 51 feet in circumference. The door is not so high up that it may not be easily reached by climbing. Near the summit are the four customary small windows or open ings, and two others somewhat lower down. The building has been erected of two descrip tions! of stone — granite and clay-slate. It is difficult to look on these magnificent, extraordi nary, and enigmatical buildings, without par ticipating in the passion with which Irishmen speak of them. So great is this, that almost every literary man has put his opinions about them to paper, and almost every studious eccle siastic residing in a secluded part of the country is sure to have a theory respecting the round towers, which he intends to give to the world, whenever his affairs allow him leisure. The remains of the Seven Churches at Glen dalough, lie scattered about the Round Tower, much in the same way as at Scattery Island, and the whole site is still used as a cemetery by the inhabitants of the neighbouring glen. Close to the foot of the Round Tower was the recent grave of a young girl. The wooden cross erected over it was decorated with cut tings of paper that were playing in the wind, while some had already been scattered around to a considerable distance. A small portion of the site, called the Sacristy, is set apart as a burying-ground for priests. St. Kevin, the patron of t|je Glen, is said to have prayed to Heaven that all buried within the compass ofthe Seven Churches, should be saved, or at least leniently dealt with, on. the Day of Judgment. On this account, the people of the surrounding country flock hither on 'some day in June, to decorate the graves and crosses of their friends with flowers, Wreaths, and cuttings of paper, in com memoration of the goodness of St. Kevin, and in honour of the dead. " Oh. then it's a beautiful festival, your hon our, and the whole churchyard is full of people singing and praying, that have come from twenty and thirty miles round Glendalough. As they are tolerably easy about the souls of their friends, who have every hope of being saved, the festi val is not a very melancholy one, but on the contrary, so gay often, that I might be tempted to call tHe churchyard ' Erin's Pleasure-ground.' " Here also popular tradition points to certain graves as those of ancient Irish kings. The entrance to the enclosure is through an old half- ruinous Saxon gate, now thickly clothed in ivy. Among the stones that lie scattered about, are many of which extraordinary tales are told. Thus, one has a hole to kneel in, and prayers said on this stone are supposed to have a more than ordinary efficacy. There is also a stone cross which women embrace who long for the joys of maternity. Yet to speak truth, this cross must be a very superfluous piece of furni ture in a country where families seem to be everywhere blessed with such an abundance of offspring. Next to the ruins lies the smaller of the two lakes, " It is also called the Lake of Serpents, your honour, or Lough Napeastia j for into this lake it was'your honour, that St. Patrick ban ished all the snakes of Ireland. The snakes, naturally enough, were little pleased with such damp lodgings, and one big one, in particular. used often to put up its head and pray the saint to grant it. a little more liberty, So St. Patrick in his good nature, drew a circle on the ground, and told the serpent to consider that as its own ground. Now, when they began to build the Seven Churches, the serpent was very angry at what it considered as an invasion of its own territory ; and at night it used to come out of the water, and destroy what the workpeople had built during the day. At last St. Patrick prayed to God to dispense him from the promise he had made to the snake, and God allowed flie saint to banish the reptile into the lake again, and then the workmen got on fast enough with the building." Irwin went on to tell me the reason why for 1300 years no skylark had ever warbled o'er the gloomy shore of the larger lake. "When the seven churches were building, your honour, it was the skylarks that used every morning to call the men to their work. They had no watches in those days, and the song of the lark served as a signal that it was 'time to begin their labour. Well, when the holy work was at an end, St. Kevin declared that no lark was worthy to succeed those pious birds that had helped in the building of the churches. For it was St. Kevin that built the seven churches, and it was he was the first Bishop ef Glenda- IRELAND 65 lough. In time, however, these seven churches, and every seven churches in Ireland,, fell into the power of the English, and everything here went to ruin and decay, and the see of Glenda lough was merged in that of Dublin. But old as these churches are, we Irishmen know the names of every one of them. That heap of stones there, your honour, is Trinity church, that bit of wall there belonged to Our Lady's chapel, and that other was part of St. Kevin's church. We shall remember these names as long' as there's a stone remaining." Oh the narrow isthmus between the two lakes are some traces of ancient circumvallation. One, seventeen paces in diameter, and in per fect preservation, was at once declared by Ir win to be a temple of the Druids: Other anti quarians pretend that it was only an enclosure for cattle. I am disposed tp 'reject both suppo sitions. For a tetople the wall is scarcely large enough, and for an enclosure for cattle it is built with too miich care and solidity. On St. Kevin's day, of the preceding year, this isthmus had been the scene of a great tem perance festival. Father Mathew had chosen that day for holding a great meeting on a spot so dbaT to the recollection of every Irishman.1 " It was upon that wall; your honour, that the heaven-gifted man stood to address the people. There they were from Glenmacnass, and'Glenavonmore, and the Vale of Avoca, and from Glenmalrire,. and the goatherds from the uninhabited mountains, and people from all the country round, twenty or thirty thousand of them at least, and a great many nobility and' gentry among them. Through the village of Rathdrum alone, twenty-four temperance socie ties marched with their bands of music. Faith, I don't believe since the days of St. Kevin there ever were so many people assembled here on a pious errand. Some thousands took the pledge that day ; and I believe, your honour, that those who took it here, between the' Lake ofthe Ser pents and the lake o'er whose gloomy shore skylark never warbles, within view of St Kevin's bed, and of the seven churches, and of the ven erable old pillar temple, and on the ground that was held to be holy by our ancestors, even in the times of the Druids — no, I don't believe those who took the pledge here that day will be so easily persuaded to break it." On the second lake a boat was awaiting us, and we rowed out to enjoy the view of the overhanging rocks; The great wonder of these rocks is St. Kevin's bed, a little cavern, hollow ed out apparently by the hand of man, and just large enough for one person to lie down and stretch himself out in it. It is situated forty feet above the lake, but a narrow path leads up to it, and every woman who lies down there may expect plenty of children and an easy de livery. As we were rowing along the lake, we -observed, winding up this path, our tail of women artd girls, who thus far had followed us ,at eveTy step. I had forgotten to mention this tail. 'It consisted of women, maidens, lads, and children, who attached themselves to us imme diately on our entrance iritp the glen. Every stranger in Ireland must expect to carry a tail of this sort behind him, and will find it as im possible to divest himself of it, as O'Connell finds it to dispense with his tail. You may E pray or you may scold, but leave you they will- not. They run along by your Side, and it is hard but they will find an opportunity, now and then, to put in a Word, by way of lending a helping hand to your regular guide. These would-be attendants of ours were now on their • way to St. Kevin's bed, and seemed all desirous of entering it ; but an old worpan drove them all aWay, declaring it was her privilege to show strangers the position of a woman in the saint's bed. This is the bed whence poor Kathleen was hurled down the beetling rock by the pious Kevin. Irwin told me the legend somewhat more fully than Moore tells it, and added1 that the saint prayed to Heaven that no one might ever again he drowned in that lake. "And that's now 1300 years ago, your honour, and no man, woman, or child, has ever been drowned' '' in the lake since. That's the reason people are" so fond of bathing here ; but no man' would set foot in the other lake, the Lake of Serpents. " Now, what I tell yoilr honour is true ; ahd if it stands otherwise in books, it's the books that- are wrong. Sure, We've better authority than books, for we have it ' all handed down from generation to generation.*' I lingered "fondly about the lovely scene I was about to quit. I passed all its details once ' more in review : the beautiful lakes, the gloomy rocks, the Druldical isthmus, the crosses, the churches, the graves, and the found tower. What abundance1 of ' interesting objects, was' ; here! At length I passed out through the old, half fuirted ivy-mantled gate, and by the side1 of a thorn-bush of extreme bid age, which Irwin told me marked the boundary of the city that" ' onee stood here ; I mounted my car, and rolled' away, for once blessing the Irish for their in vention of the jaunting car, which allowed me, instead of keeping my looks fixed on the horse, " to turn them towards Glendalough, as long as a glance could be caught of its beauties. . FROM GLENDALOUGH TO DUBLIN. At Rathdrum I was told, though there were several hundreds of protestants in the place, not one of them had taken the pledge. The same remark had been made io me in several towns of the south. In the north, on the con trary, many protestants havetaken the pledge: The protestants in the south, being the smaller number, are probably jealous of a- movement which originated with the catholics. Near Rathdrum are some copper-mines, the property of Cornwall gentlemen of the name of Williams, who, I was told, were likewise the owners of some mines in America No less than two thousand workmen are employed in the mines ofthe vales of Avonmore and Avoca, The managers are Englishmen, the workmen''1 Irishmen. Some lead-mines are also worked in the neighbourhood, under the direction ofthe Irish Mining Company. In the workhouse at Rathdrum I found 300 paupers. Three months before they told me there had been 350 inmates ; but it was now the potato-harvest, so there was plenty of work, and potatoes were cheap. At that period of the year numbers were sure to demand their ' discharge, whereas in spring they crowded to the house. 66 IRELAND. I know not whether the protestants of Rath drum are particularly zealous, or whether their views prevail generally among the protestants of Ireland, but I was told very few protestants would send their children to the national school at Rathdrum. The great dispute between the catholics and protestants rests on the question whether the whole hiblp, or only extracis, shall be given to the children to read. The catholics are for giving only extracts, and they have car ried their point, they and their friends being in a majority at the Board of Education in Dublin. Twenty or thirty years ago there was not one good house in Rathdrum ; at present it is a very neat and orderly little town. The question whether Ireland is an improving country must be answered, in many respects, in the affirma tive. The external appearance of the towns seems to have improved everywhere within the last twenty years ; the roads, canals, and other means of transport, are every day becoming better ; agriculture and arboriculture are fol lowed with more intelligence, as you may con vince yourself while passing along the highway. The increase of schools is extraordinary, and so is the diminution of crime. . Party spirit, particularly in religious matters, appears also to Have lost much of its former asperity. One giant evil, however, remains— namely, the pov erty of the masses, and amid all the other im provements, this evil remains undiminished, ¦ay, appears even to be on the increase. It was on a Sunday that I again mounted a car to visit a few more of the beauties of the «ounty of Wicklow — the Devil's Glen, the Glen of the Downs,* the Rock of Glencarrig, of work, leave the whole or part of their families at Dublin, to subsist by beggary till their return. The Irish paupers, too, passed frorn English parishes, are generally landed, in the first instance, in Dub- un, where they often accumulate rapidly. And thus, Mr. Nicholls concludes, "numerous streams of vagrancy concentrate in this city as in a reservoir." When these circumstances are considered, and the fact that for a long time there existed in Ireland no public institutions for the relief of the poor, except in the large towns, and that Dublin was the only place where the destitute and starving pauper could be certain of relief, that therefore Dublin could not fail to be the point towards which all the want and misery of the country would tend to flow,; when all these facts are considered, I say, it is no won der there should be. so many beggars in Dublin ; the wonder is that their number, should, not be much greater. The fearful picture painted by former travellers of the condition ofthe Dublin poor has, however, already ceased to be appli cable. The horrible yet customary salutation of the Dublin beggar—" Sir, 1 am very hungry" — I heard much less frequently than I had expected. The new workhouses have, proba- bly, already begun to exercise a beneficial influence ; but whether it will be possible to carry out the enactments of the expected Va grancy Act, is a question to which time only will enable us to return a reply. With 150 workhouses in the country, each capable of accommodating 500 paupers, provision will only have been made for 75,000 destitute per sons. , Before, therefore, the state can prohibit mendicancy, it must have been ascertained that Ireland does not contain more than 75,000 individuals unahle to maintain themselves by their own labour. We do not, however, re quire any official return to assure us that the real number of destitute poor is very far beyond 75,000, and the then question is— what right the state can have to prohibit begging, to those to whom it has not the shelter of a roof to offer. Museums of Dublin. The museums and literary societies of Dub lin are not a little indebted to Germany. The foundation of the Museum of the Royal Dublin Society was laid by the purchase of theLeskean Museum, the property of Professor Leske : at a later period the collections of Gieseke, a mine ralogist of Gotlingen, were added to the mu seum ; the library of Baron Fagel, a Dutch man, was incorporated with the library of the university ; the anatomical models in wax of Professor Rau, a German residing at Paris, were bought by Lord Shelburne for the univer sity ; and Professor Finnagel — here called von Feinagle — originated a society, by whjch, under his direction, was established an academy for children of the upper classes, the only es tablishment of the kind in Ireland. IRELAND. 75 For strangers, the most interesting collec tions are those of the University, or Trinity College ; of the Royal Dublin Society, and of the Royal Irish Academy. Next to the Ger mans, the bogs of Ireland have contributed most to the enriching of the two last of these institutions. These bogs are the very best pre servers of antiquities that any country can wish for, and almost every information that Ireland desires to have respecting her ancient condition, she must be content to look for at the bottom of her marshes. Not only the beads of gold and amber, worn in remote anti quity by the ladies of Ireland ; not only the bodies of men, but their very clothes, and the butter that they eat, and samples of the weed which they smoked, before they made the acquaintance of tobacco ; even the bodies of extinct races of animals — all have been covered by the turf-bogs with a preservative matter, which, among the relics of a remote antiquity, has even kept unchanged the furrows drawn by the plough centuries and centuries ago. All these collections of Irish antiquities, the care taken to preserve them, and the studious examination of them, are of very recent date. The zeal that at present prevails for draining the bogs leads daily to the discovery of new specimens of antiquity, and much will no doubt continue to be found, and will contribute to make these collections yet more interesting than they are. Among the objects hitherto obtained from the bogs, are, in the first place, -complete human bodies, of which a specimen -is to be seen at Dublin, with the skin dried and tanned brown indeed, but with all the features distinctly to be traced. From the costume in which this man was found arrayed, it is con cluded that he must have lain at least 500 years in the bog in Galway, where he was discovered. For the preservation of animal matter, the Irish bogs, it would appear, might compare with the great icy masses of Siberia ; but the latter, it must be allowed, possess yet greater powers, since they preserve, not only the bones and skin, but the flesh also. Different parts of the buffalo, that formerly existed in Ireland, have also been discovered. According to a treatise published in the Pro ceedings of the Irish Academy, this Irish buf falo differs from all the ossemens fossiles des cribed by Cuvier, and is remarkable on account of the great convexity of the forehead, the length of the body, and the shortness of the horns, which are bent downward. Of all, the fossil deer of Ireland most deserves our admiration and attention, on account of its enormous size and peculiar construction. Of this animal so many specimens- have been found in all parts of Ireland, that there are few peasants in the country who are not acquainted, •either by hearsay or as eyewitnesses, with the horns ofthe old deer, as they are called. Nay, in some parts of the country, these horns have been found in such quantities, that they are thrown aside, as undeserving of any conside ration, or are applied to agricultural purposes. Some of these enormous antlers, for. instance, have been ussd as gates for fields, and others for bridges over small hrooks. In the same way, in Siberia, the bones of the mammoth are found in such quantities, that they have becorpe 10 " 10 6 " 6 2 " 10 an article of trade, and are bought and sold to he applied to agricultural purposes. In the Isle of Man also, the fossil deer has been found, and in several museums of England, have, of late years, been placed specimens complete in all their smallest anatomical details. The name given to them is Cervus Mcgacerus. In the construction of its horns, the fossil deer bears some resemblance to the elk, but they are much larger than those of the latter, whereas the animal itself is much smaller. The finest specimen is to be seen in the museum of the. Royal Dublin Society. The principal di mensions, according to a small pamphlet, pub lished by a member of the Irish Academy, are the following : Length of body 1 foot 84 inches. Length of lower jaw . . . . 1 " 5| " Distance between the extreme points of the antlers, measured over the skull 11 "10 " The same measured in a straight line 9 " 2 " Length of each antler . . . . 5 " 9 te Circumference of the antler at the base 1 " 0£ Length of backbone Height of animal's back Breadth of the antler . It may easily be imagined what a magnificent animal these relative dimensions must have formed. Antlers each as long as a tolerably tall man, and as broad as a moderate-sized table. An animal, at the same time, standing higher than the largest ox, and yet as lightly and beautifully built as the slenderest stag. This one object so far surpasses all the other specimens of natural history in the collection Of the Dublin Society, that one's whole atten tion is engrossed by it. It is unquestionably the finest animal of its kind that has yet been placed in any museum in Dublin, and is, per haps, next to the great fossil mammoth in St Petersburg, the finest fossil specimen that has ever been exposed to the gaze of the curious. In Yorkshire also, on the coast of Essex, in the forest of Bondi, near Paris, in several parts of Germany, and, according to Cuvier, in the neighbourhood of the Po, parts, of the Cervus Megacerus have at times been found. In Ed inburgh, at Cambridge, and in two or three other English museums, specimens of the ani mal, nearly complete, have been set up. All these, however, are far surpassed by the Dub lin specimen in beauty, size, and completeness. We may reckon it as another of the peculiar ities of Ireland, that this fossil animal should be found there so much more abundantly than in any other part of Europe. How many ques tions are raised by this single fact? It often seems as if Ireland must have formed a world of itself. One might be tempted to believe it a remnant of the great continent Atlantis, which may be supposed not to have participated in every respect with Europe, but, in some meas ure, to have formed a distinct portion of the globe. Many amber ornaments have been found in the hogs. This would imply either that amber had at one time been found in freland, or that the Phoenicians, or some other maritime people, must have brought it thither as an article of trade. A necklace of shells has also been found, of so rude a workmanship that it looks as if it had been taken from the neck of some queen of the South Sea islands. Such an ornament can 76 IRELAND. only, have been worn in very remote ages of European barbarism. Of golden ornaments, rings, rows of beads, and some curious little in struments, the use and purport of which it is not easy to determine, considerable quantities have been fonnd. The golden beads, made of a thin plate of metal, are astonishingly large If these are of Irish workmanship, and of a pe riod prior to the introduction of Christianity, as is generally supposed, on account ofthe ab sence of all religious emblems and decorations, it follows that the old pagan Irish were very nearly as good goldsmiths as those of the Greek . colonists, and of the Bosphorian kings of Tauria on the Black Sea, of whose relics many have of late years been found and deposited in the museums of St. Petersburg. According to the poet Moore, gold-mines are believed to have been discovered by Tighernrtias, an ancient king of Ireland, Who feigned 200 years before the Christian era. In one bog in the county of Tipperary, so many golden articles have been found at different times, that it hears the name of the golden bog ; and^ tradition says, that in that place the workshop of a goldsmith was one day overwhelmed by the sudden irruption of the marshy bog. Among these golden articles is a semicircular half-ring with, a kind of flat stamp at each end, and large enough to he conveniently handled in the centre. The Dublin scholars suppose it to have been a kind of talisman made use of on the conclusion of treaties of peace. There ex ist, hovrever, many similar half-closed rings, some of copper and some of silver, which are supposed to have been current as coin. A most remarkable fact is, that an article nearly similar is at present made in Birmingham, of iron, with the view of being employed among the Ashantees and other negro nations, for the purchase of commodities. These African ring- coins bear so strong a resemblance in form to the ancient Irish half-ring that I have endeav oured to describe, that some of the African coins manufactured at Birmingham have been placed by its side. It appears a strange form into which to fashion money, and yet, in coun tries so remote from each other, the inhabitants would seem to have hit upon the same idea. In studying the history of nature and of man, it is impossible for us to extend our inquiries over too great a surface. Perhaps the Phceniciarts traded on the African coast with the nations re ferred to, at the same time as with the Irish. If so, the Phoenicians may have conveyed the idea of so strange a coinage from the Africans to the Irish, or from the Irish to the Africans. The Phoenicians may have done then what the English do now at Birmingham. Do we not find the round towers of Ireland again in Per sia? and even in China monuments have been discovered precisely similar to the cairns and cromlechs of Ireland. Not long ago, a report on some similar Cyclopean monuments discov ered near Bombay, was inserted in the pro ceedings ofthe Royal Irish Academy. , Considering the immense number of buildings and monuments ascribed to the Eastmen and Northmen (the Danes), the number of articles pf bronze discovered in the country is remarka bly small. There are incomparably fewer in the museums of Dublin, than in those of Copen hagen in Livonia. There are indeed a few swords of bronze, similar to those at Copenha gen, a large quantify of Celts, and a few bronze battle-axes. The most remarkable of these fig ures are the little bronze pigs, which are found in great numbers. The form of the animal is gen erally well imitated.' Perhaps the hog may have been a sacred animal among the Pagan Irish, as were.several sorts of beetles among the Egyp tians. As this thought crossed my mind, I re called to my memory the ancient legend that the old necromancers, the Tuatha-de Danaans, on the arrival of a large number of colonists from Spain, converted the whole island into the form of a hog. Even to the present day, the hog is the most important animal in the island,. and the one most respected by the sons of Erin ; they exist upon the blood and fat of the hog, as tbe Egyptians on the water of the Nile ; and,, were the subjects of her Most Gracious Majesty in Ireland not good Christians, who knows whether they Would not worship Apis under the form of a good fat pig, as the Egyptians did under the form of an ox ? Some distaffs have been found of a singularly primitive construction, namely, a round stdne with a hole, through which a shaft was passed. On. this shaft the thread was wound, and the heavy stone served to put the simple machinery in movement, ft was reserved for the Irish of modern times to invent a distaff yet more sim ple, a large potato being made to supply the place of the stone, fbe preparation, of which would require a greater expenditure of labour and ingenuity than they are willing to bestow on it. This invention must be one of modern date, for the ancient Irish had no knowledge of the valuable root which Drake transplanted from, America. i Considerable quantities are found of a sob- ', stance of which I have already made mention, under the name of bog-butter. In pieces of eight or ten pounds, this substance is often found. The largest piece is said to have weigh- ', ed seventeen pounds. Bog cheese has also ' been found preserved in the bogs, and put up into forms entirely different from any known at the present day. Iron, I Was told, was generally wholly de stroyed in the tuff-bogs. The only instances in which iron has been preserved, has been when it has been imbedded in greasy animal substan ces. Many have also assured rne that the limy portions of animals, including their bones, decay soon, and that the skin and fat only remain. Even in the specimen of a bog-man, of which I have made mention, it was said that all the in ternal bones had been destroyed by the humidi ty that had found its way into the body. If this be so, the assurance given me by many, and' which is repeated in a scientific treatise, of which I have made mention, that the bones of the fossil elk are frequently dug out of the bogs, must be understood to apply, not to the bogs themselves, but to the strata of marl which lie under the bogs, Many manuscripts, crosiers, and other arti cles belonging to the period of Christianity are likewise found, and the peculiar fashion of their ornaments shows that the arts in Ireland had,' even then, a character peculiar to the country. All the ideas of the painters, transcribers, and IRELAND. 77 workers in metal, appear tp have been entirely different from those of which we discover traces in other countries. Some highly interesting specimens of Irish antiquity are also found in the collections of Trinity College, the University of Dublin, found ed by Queen Elizabeth. Among other articles to be seen there is an old harp, beautiiully work ed, said to have belonged to the Irish king O'Neil. Here, then, is palpable to our feeling as to sight, one of those musical instruments that have to us an almost fabulous air, when seen in paintings representing the gathering of the Ossianic heroes. All the buildings of Trinity College are large, handsome, and "convenient, and everything is kept in the best condition. The hall'of the li brary is the room most admired, and is said to be the largest of its kind in the British empire. In 1842 the books amounted to 96,100 volumes. Of all the books I saw there, none interested me more than the new map of Ireland, which, as far as it is completed, is really a colossal un dertaking, and certainly the most magnificent and best thing of the kind ever executed under the direction of the British government. The same engineers under whose auspices the last large map of England was executed, are also engaged upon the map of Ireland ; and as they have now the full advantage of all the experi ence which they gathered in England, it is thought that their survey of Ireland will be even more perfect than that of England, and that the geography of Ireland, hitherto in a more unsat isfactory condition than that of any other Euro pean country, will now, all at once, possess the most accurate and detailed maps in the world. It is difficult to believe, and yet I have been as sured it is perfectly true, that all the maps of Ire land published in the last century, were based upon an old map of Sir William Petty's, drawn up in the seventeenth century. Of course, none of these maps were at all to be relied on, and this at a time when the British government had caused astronomical and trigonometrical surveys to be made in remote countries. Parts of Rus sia had already been surveyed and measured, long before a general, trigonometrical survey of Ireland seems to have been thought of. Atthe end of the last century a map of Ireland was draWnup.by a clergyman ofthe name of Beau fort ; apd this map, though the author had very unsatisfactory data to proceed on, continued for a long time to be looked on as the most accurate that- existed. Beaufort's map was on the scale of six miles to ap inch ; that undertaken at the expense of the state, is on a scale of six inches to a mile. This is as much as to say that the government map is a thousand times as large as the most accurate and. most detailed map that Ireland possessed forty years ago. For twelve years sixty persons have been employed on the work. Each of the thirty-two counties of the kingdom is drawn, on an average, on fifty or six ty large sheets. According to their extent, some counties have a greater and some a smaller nurnber of sheets. Twenty-seven counties are already complete ; and when the whole is fin ished, the map will consist of 1500 sheets, and will constitute the most magnificent geograph ical work possessed by any country. The attelierfor this map is in Phoenix Park, near Dublin. What surprised me most was the low stage of educaation and intelligence of soriie ofthe individuals employed on the work. In similar undertakings with us in Germany, all the assistants would be taken from the ed ucated classes. I might instance the great map of Saxony, which has been in hand at Dresden for several years. Here, on the con trary, those engaged in a subordinate capacity are mere common workmen who can under stand but little of the nature of the work on which they are employed. Their, deficiencies, in this respect, I have no doubt, are amply compensated by the scientific attainments of those by whom they are superintended. The work may not the less be a distinguished and complete one when finished, though the inferior workmen may not comprehend any part of it beyond what passes immediately through their hands. What most interests a stranger in an Eng lish library are the splendid and colossal works, which English perseverance, English art, and English money, have brought to maturity, and which we have seldom an opportunity of see- in any of our continental libraries. Among the colossal works of this kind that I had an opportunity of seeing at Trinity College, was one on Mexican Antiquities, the publication of which is said to have cost the author, Lord Kingsborough, more than £30,000. A work almost as complete as nature herself, is Lam bert's description and pictorial representations of the Genus Pinus. This Lambert devoted his talents, his life, and his fortune, to the completion of this splendid work. It is charac teristic of England to produce men who pos sess all these qualifications in a high degree, and are willing to devote them to the execution of one work, or the attainment of one end. In Germany we never concentrate our means upon one, point. Lambert kept a number of excel- .lent artists in his, employment, and made them repeat their work till he was quite satisfied with what they produced. Never were pine- trees glorified by the hand of man as they have been in Lambert's work, which, however, with all its splendour, remains incomplete as com pared with nature. There are said to exist very few copiss of this rare and. magnificent work. The great work of Cough, (" Sepulc! ral Monuments of Great Britain,") and that by Dugdale, (" Monasticbn Anglicanum,") which contains views and a detailed history of all the churches and abbeys of England, occu pied my attention for some time. It is aston ishing with what elaborate care England has been illustrated and described by its authors and artists. Every department appears to be subdivided into innumerable subordinate branch es, and for each branch there exists generally some standard work, which passes for a clas sical and recognised authority Trinity College is decidedly the largest build ing in Dublin, and the largest college in the. United Kingdom. To give some idea of what has been done for this establishment, I will men tion a few of the pecuniary donations it has received from private individuals and from the nation. In 1758 the provost, Dr. Baldwin, left 78 IRELAND. £80,000 to the college. Parliament voted £40.000 for the erection of a square, with apartments for fellows and students, and the square was not inappropriately named Parlia ment Square. In 1787 parliament voted £12.000 for the erection of a chapel, the cost of which, however, far exceeded that sum. Considering the sums that this college has had the distribu tion of, it ought to take a more prominent posi- 'lon than it does. The English universities are apt to speak of Trinity College as their Silent Sister. Men of a European reputation are not want ing, who received their education at Trinity College. Among others are named Young. Goldsmith, Swift, Hamilton, Congreve, Burke. Dodwell, Grattan, Coulter, &c. The English generally complete their education at one and the same College, and each college is constantly engaged in counting up the eminent men who have received their education within its walls, and in instituting comparisons between itself and other colleges. In our German universi ties, of which every student generally visits several, this can never be the case. The Ger man universities pride themselves upon the ce lebrity of their teachers, the English upon the •elebrity of their pupils. Trinity College Chapel is a very elegant build ing, though far inferior to the college chapels ef Oxford. I noticed here an amusing instance •f the manner in which the gradations of rank are marked in an English university, and •f the strictness with which the distinctions are enforced. The prayer-books in this chapel differed in form, size, and binding, according to the academical rank of those whu were to use them. Thus the prayer-book of the pro vost was an elegantly bound folio, with gilt edges, and the leather on the sides enriched with a profusion of gilt stars. The vice-pro vost had no stars to his book, and the stliior fellows, of whom there are seven, had no gild ing at. all. The junior fellows, eighteen in number, had to content themselves with quarto volumes, and t-he scholars and students were reduced to octavos. The scholars, of whom there are seventy, form, with the fellows, the body ofthe university, and elect the two mem bers by whom the university is represented in parliament. The students are divided into three classes : fellow-commoners, who dine at the college table, and pay the most for their education ; pensioners, who pay less ; and si zars, who pay nothing. As with the college prayer-books, so with the pleasure-grounds attached to the college, marked distinctions are kept up with regard to ihe different ranks. The students have their park, and the fellows theirs ; to the latter, how ever, the masters and fellow-commoners have access. After duly inspecting all these mat ters, 1 passed out again through a small door in tha garden wall. This door is called the Doc tors' gate, because none but doctors are author ized to have a key. By courtesy, however, this valuable privilege is also enjoyed by the masters. THE SQUARES OF DUBLIN. Dublin is celebrated in England forits squares. Merrion Square is said to be the handsomest r and Stephen's Green the largest in the kingdom. On passing out of the little Doctors' gate, I found I had not far to go to visit both squares. Merrion Square is a handsome green paral lelogram, wUh magnificent lawns, and sur- . rounded by the handsomest private buildings in ihe town. The latter presented a somewhat melancholy spectacle to me as I was strolling along the walks of the garden. The majority of the houses had their windows closed, a sign that their owners were absent. I counted ten adjoining buildings that were veiled in this manner. During the summer, and a great part of the winter, the nobility and gentry pf the country must not be sought for in Dublin ; and their absence at that period is not atoned for, as in London, by a season all the brisker in the spring. Dublin has naturally suffered most by the union of Ireland with England. To the end of the last century, when Ireland still had her own parliament, Dublin was the customary residence of two hundred and seventy-one spiritual and temporal peers, and of three hundred members of the rfouse of commons. In 1820 only thir ty-four peers, thirteen baronets, and five mem bers of tbe house of commons, resided in Dub lin. It was calculated, as early as 1782, that not less than two millions sterling were annu ally carried away from Ireland, to be expended; out of the country. Since then, it may safely he assumed that this sum has at least doubled. ' Ireland is not like many other countries, indent-. nified, in some measure, by the visits of stran gers, and it may therefore be easily imagined how acutely the effects of this absenteeism are felt by the trading classes of the metropolis. Ireland is probably the country in all Europe, whence the greatest number of wealthy indi viduals permanently absent themselves, and to whieh the smallest number of wealthy strangers rvort. As in London there are more elegant clubs than elegant coffee-houses, so in Dublin there are more squares than public gardens. The wealthy and privileged classes have reserved to themselves the exclusive enjoyment of the square gardens. In general it is only the in habitants of the square, and a few privileged subscribers, who are admitted into the garden, for the garden is surrounded by a high iron railing, and the gates are always kept»locked, each subscriber having a key. It would even seem that the eonfrene of a square is able to obtain peculiar legislative privileges, for it is nothing uncommon to see a board put up an nouncing that any person venturing to imitate a square key, is liable to a penalty of five pounds. Merrion Square, together with all the houses that surround it, belong to a lord, whose name I have forgotten. The occupiers of these houses pay to this lord a higher rent, in con sideration of his not building upon the central piece of ground. It is to be hoped, however, the city has some better security against his lordship's building over the garden in question. The lawns of Morrion Square, like those of most English squares, are always admirably neat, and though the garden contains only twelve acres, the gardener, who has his cottage in a. IRELAND. 79 corner of it, has enough to do with his two as sistants, to keep the grass and the paths in the wished-for order. Some handsome clumps of trees, are distributed over the garden, and im mediately inside of the iron railing runs a thick shrubbery, in order that those who walk in the garden may enjoy the greater privacy. In my opinion, the enjoyment of these min iature parks is a very insipid one, consisting of nothing else, than walking formally up and down the place, to breathe a little fresh air. Some nurspry maids and a few young children are generally the only occupants ofthe garden In Germany wp should probably authorize the gardener to establish a little dairy for* the sale of milk and cakes- and then, perhaps, a much larger number of the occupiers of the houses would come out in a morning to enjoy their coffee and other refreshments, in the open air. Nothing of this kind is to be seen here, and these beautiful spots which might in sp many ways be made to contribute to the use and en joyment of the public pre generally all but empty. In spring, sometimes a band of music plays in the square, and then all the inhab itants and subscribers with their families and friends assemble in Merrion Square, as the gar dener assured me, to the number of three or four thousand. The public, even on these high festivals, is excluded, policemen being placed at the gates to prevent the entrance of the un privileged. " And it's very necessary," said the gardener : " for if we did not do so, the many ruffians that we have in the town would destroy every thing." Stephen's Green, the other square, is nearly an English mile in circumference. It is the property of the city of Dublin, but has been secured to the inhabitants as a fee farm by act of parliament. They pay to the city £300 a year, and here we have another example of the variety of relations in which the inhabitants of English towns stand to their squares. In the centre of the handsome ground stands an equestrian statue of George II. Another mon ument was offered to the inhabitants of the two squares, but was declined by them, on the ground of the bad taste of the design. It was in consequence erected in Phoenix Park, whpre it is known as the Wellington Testimonial. Of this park, the Irish likewise maintain, that no public town park in the United Kingdom is equal to it in beauty. For my own part, how- eve.r, I must own that I am at a loss to guess what it is that the Iirsh find fault with in Uje. magnificent parks of London, surrounded by buildings so mai'li superior in magnificence. The aoqess to Phoenix Park is detestable, the buildings about it, not excepting the lodge of the lord lieutenant, are all very insignificant, and the lawns are certainly less carefully at tended to than in the London parks. Phoenix Park, moreover, lips completely outside of Dub lin, and having thus brought my reader into fresh air again, I will not take him back to the close and smoky streets of the metropolis, much as we might still find to interest us there ; at least, I will not take him farther back than is necessary to enable us to mount the car, by the aid of which we are to roll away to the north of Ireland. FROM DUBLIIJ TO DROGHEDA. With us, in Germany, we sometimes take the liberty of asking a stranger what his name is. In England, in a similar situation, it is. hettei to ask a man how he spells his name, or the- interrogator may chance to receive only a few half-articulated, and, to a foreigner, ut terly unintelligible sounds in reply. Such a question I addressed to a man who, having thrown his baggage into the well, placed him self by the sid* of me on the car. He rallied out a series of letters, but I found immediately that my ear was not sufficiently familiarized with English spelling, and I was little wiser oa the subject than I had been before. 1 made out Only that his Christian name was John, and» that his surname ended in pen, whence, judg ing by an old adage I had heard in England, I concluded that my fellow traveller was proba bly a Cornish man. He was a thorough trader, and had no taste for any thing out of the com mercial line.* When I told him I had lately been in Saxony, " Ah, that's a fine wool coun try, was his immediate reply. When I told. him I was sorry the bad weather would allow us to see but little of the fine country we were. about to pass through, his answer was that he would care little for the bad Weather, if busi ness would but improve a little. " Neverthe less," I resumed, "it would be some consola tion to me to enter on a better cultivated part of Ireland, and to find the cultivation of the land, and the intelligence of the people, improving more and more as I advanced." This imme diately called from him the remark that the linen. manufacture and flax dressing also improved and grew finer the farther we advanced north ward. In Drogheda they were inferior to New- ry, and farther nprth were many places that surpassed Newry. All this conversation passed while we were endeavouring to make ourselves as comfortable as we could At last the moment of departure arrived. The crowd of poor cripples ahd beg gars, unnecessary assistants, and hawkers of newspapers and picture books, cleared away from about us, and our car, with its sixteen out side passengers, rolled along with its mountain of luggage, through the suburbs of Dublin, where I again noticed the great number of houses that were covered with ivy, much as I had seen it oa the walls of all the ruins of Ireland. Erin may. be called the land of Ivy, and Dublin the ivied city. Amid a downpour of hail, rain, and snow, a kind of weather whieh the English call sleet, and which is of very frequent occurrence in Ireland, we drove past the ruins of tbe cathe dral of Swords. Close to these stands a round tower, nearly perfect, and many magnificent old trees. The name of Swords has an English, sound, but it reminds one of the old Irish bat tles fought under the famed monarch Brian Boru. A little farther on we passed another ruin, the old castle of Balruddery ; but immediately beyond Balruddery, at Balbriggan, my eyes rested on a spectacle quite new to me in Ire land—namely, a large manufactory. Balbrig gan was the first place in Ireland in which I beheld a large cotton-mill, and Balbriggan stock- 80 IRELAND. ings, I found, enjoyed ai reputation even in England. Here, then, the'north-eastern manu facturing district of Ireland may be said to commence. Ruins cease to be objects of chief interest, and splendid piles of them, such as those of Kilkenny, Glendalough, and Cashel, are no longer heard of. We held a short siesta at Balbriggan, where we changed horses, and on reascending our car, were immediately vsurrounded by the customary swarm of wretched-looking creatures, praying us, for Heaven's sake, to give them a halfpenny. "There's still time, good gentlemen ! the car 'II be off directly," they exclaimed in chorus, as the driver raised his whip. " There's still time, your honours ! Oh, sure, your honours won't drive away without leaving a trifle for us and our poor families ! I don't beg for my own sake, but for my poor dying children ! Oh ! Oh ! there the car goes, and not a halfpenny your honours leave for us !" Night had, meanwhile, come on. This is anything but agreeable on an Irish Car, if the night, as was now the case, come on unaccom panied by moon or stars. To sleep is scarcely possible without exposing oneself to the almost certain contingency of bfeing pitched off. A portly dame, who sat on the other side of me, began to sing, and told me she did so to keep herself awake. Her song apd our silence con tinued nearly all the way to Drogheda, and so did the downfal of the meteorological compound, already described under the name of sleet, and, thus accompanied, we made our entry into the ancient town watered by the Boyne. The linen trade forms the staple trade of Drogheda ; but some branches, particularly the spinning of yarn, have been much depressed of late by the erefction of large spinning-factories' at Leeds. The manufacturing of linen is a new branch of industry ; whereas, in Ireland, it is one of the oldest that exists. .The Irish linen trade has occupied the legislatures of Ireland and England for more than two hundred years. In England the subject has excited attention only since the beginning ofthe present century, when the, trade acquired some importance, in •consequence of the introduction of large spin ning-machines. In Ireland, »lso, these Jarge machines have been introduced, and have ef fected quite a revolution in the trade. Some places have suffered, and others have gained by the change. It is a singular factthat the ex portation of Irish linen to England and to foreign ¦countries has not undergone any material change in amount since the beginning of this century The quantity, during that time, has always fluc tuated between thirty-five and fifty-five millions ¦of ells; if, then, there be any foundation for the complaint ofthe manufacturers that their trade has been declining, it must lie in the increase of population, and the increased number of hands pressing forward for employment. The popu lation of Ireland, since 1800, has nearly doubled, and, therefore, for the linen traders to have no subject of complaint, the consumption and ex portation of their merchandise ought to have in creased in the same ratio. DROGHEDA AND ITS VICINITY. Drogheda is an ancient Irish town, yet it is built nearly in the style of English towns. It is the only town in the north of Ireland of which the population is on the decline. In 1821 it contained 18,118 inhabitants, and in 1831, 17,365. Its river, the Boyne, has become less famous for the dark bogrdyed water that it bears to the sea— one of its tributaries is even called the Bla6,kwater — than for the blood once so freely poured into the stream, at the hattle between William III. and James II., which led to the exuplsion of the latter, and the entire re-establishment of English influence, in Ire land. This battle is to the Irish what the bat tle ofthe White Mountain was to the Bohemi ans, the battle of Culloden to the Septs. ,, , A few miles from Drogheda, near the river, lies the field of battle; and, as the valley in, which it lies has natural beauties of its own, besides some interesting Druidical remains,, and, above all, the celebrated sepulchral monu ment of New Grange, I sallied, forth on the fol lowing day to make a little pilgrimage up the river, in company with an obliging and well- informed Drogheda patriot. Where the valley,,, narrows, on the spot where one of the most de- ,, cislve incidents of the battle occurred, an obe- , Usk has been erected on a large stone, or rock, by the side of the river. My companion, who had spent nearly all his life in the vicinity, told me that all the details of the battle were still fresh ih the memory of the people of the sur rounding country, and that nOt only these inci dents, but even the family circumstances and genealogies ofthose who distinguished thetrir | selves in the battle, were carefully preserved.. from generation. to generation. Irish traditions have still the peculiar character of those of na tions among whom printed books do hof exist. Every thing is described in its minutest de tails—localities, physiognomies, and even the! speeches delivered— just as if the narrators had, , been spectators ofthe scenes they describe, ,, Among those who perished at the battle of the. Boyne, were several Germans, whom Will iam had brought over with hjm from Holland- .. One of these was the Duke of Schomberg, who commanded a part of William's army at the, battle. The people say that the German troops, had committed an outrage on an Irish. girl, and that her lover, unable to discover the real of fender among the Germans, gratified his ven geance by slaying their leader. James II. displayed but little courage in this, memorable battle, which was fought on the 1st "¦ of July, 1690. He abandoned the field even, before the battle was decided, and. made a ride of unexampled rapidity through Ireland. In a few hours he reached the Castle of Dublin, and op the following day he rode to Waterford, a distance of 100 English miles. Nevertheless, James sought to throw the blame of the whole defeat on the Irish. On arriving at the Castle of Dublin, he met the Lady Tyrconnel, a wom an of ready wit, to whom he exclaimed, "Your countrymen, the Irish, madam, can run very fast, it must be owned." — " In this, as in every other respect, your majesty surpasses them, for you have won the race ;" was the merited re buke of the lady. At Waterford, James em- I RE LAND, 81 barked for France. As he was proceeding to the vessel, the wind blew his hat into the sea, and as it was evening, and the hat could not be immediately recovered, one of hjs compan ions, General O'Farrell, presented ,1ns, own hat to the king, that the latter might not catch cojd. James accepted the offer, and, observed, as he was mounting the side of the vessel, that if, through the fault of the Irish, he had lost a crown, he had now gained a hat in its stead. James's calumnies against Irish courage have passed into' oblivion, but his own precipitate flight from the Boyne still lives in fresh re membrance throughout. Ireland, where, all par ties are alike unreserved: in. their expressions. of contempt. By this battle, William III. set the seal to Henry II. 's conquest pf Ireland, and to the subjection of the country ; a, subjection which, since then, has had to be confirmed once or twice every century. On this occasion • it was, that, in honour of William and his con sort, two new central counties received, the, names of King's County anil Queen's County. AH the way from Drogheda to Nayan, the valley ofthe Boyne displays traces ofDruidical. monuments. On one height we inspected the remains of a cromlech or circular temple, of 'which only four large stones remained stand ing, forming the segment of a circle. A part of the hill had been dug away for agricultural purposes, and this had caused the sinking of two other stones. A little farther up the river we came to several tumuli, and one of these is ¦the. farfamed hill of New Grange. This hill is composed of an enormous mass, of flint-stones, is about fifty or sixty feet high, and about 200 paces in circumference. The number of stones ¦of which it consists is, therefore, incalculably great, particularly as the, majority, at the sum mit at least, are pot larger than common paving stones. Round the.base of the hill, in the form of a circle, stand a number of large stones, all resting, on their heads. Some of these have already, fallen, and. others have fptally disap peared. As the hill is completely surrounded by. arable land, many of the stones may haye been removed, by the farmers, to be applied tq some domestic or agricultural purpose. The outside of the; hill is now overgrown with grass, hushes, and trees ; for, in the course of time, a covering of soil. Iras naturally been deposited there. At the summit the grass and soil have been deared away, ioi many plages —probably to gratify tile, curiosity Qf.yisitersr^ .andthere the composition qf the mPHfld, may be seen clearly enough; indeed, it.may be tra,- cecValti up the, sides of .the hill, by any onewhq will take, the trouble to remove a little, of the soil that has accumulated during a succession of ages. In, size and outward appearance this tumulus may be compared to those erected at Cracow to the memory.ofKosciusko, and in lioppur of the moreahcient notabilities;,Wanda and Krak. It reminds, one also. of the tumuli of Elpepor and of Achilles on the promontory of Sigaeum, so accurately described in the twelfth book of the Odyssey* and by succeeding travellers. The large Tartaric mounds in the Crimea, raised probably in honour of ancient Scythian and Bosphoran kings; are of precisely a similar form, except that, being, erected in a country F in which stones, are extremely scarce, they^are constructed of earth. In t|he south of Russia, a rude figure carved in stoije, ahd sometimes a stone only, are frequently placed on the, sum mits of these tumuli. On the tumulus qf Achil les, the traces of a stone pillar are also said to be visible, and in Ireland tradition tells of many of these hillocks, that large stpnes stood origi nally on the summits. The tradition is in some measure confirmed by the fact, that on the top of most of thpni a small indentation is found, from which the stone may readily be. supposed to have been washed away by long-continued rains. The English call these tumuli barrouts when constructed of earth, apd cairns when built of stones. It is not, however, the outward appearance so much as the jnward distribution, that con stitutes, the chief interest of New Grange. An openipg has been. discovered, at the foot of the cairn, and through this opening it is possible to reach the vau|ted chambers of the interior. To visit this interior had been the chief object of our trip, and we came prepared, w|th lights, for the entrance! is extremely narrow, and tolera bly long. Immediately in front of the entrance is a little space sheltered from the wind ; a miniature, cayern, constructed, perhaps, by the first discoverers of the passage, or by some of its earliest explorers. Here we drew off our clothes, lighted our candles, and commenced pur operations. The passage, fifty feet long, is so choked up with stores, that it is only by ty ing on the back, feeling one's way with the feet, ana pushing oneself forward with, the hands, that .it is possible to, get forward ; and as the whole, way runs over sharp-cornered flint- sfqnjes,, this is about the most disagreeable slide that a. man can look for in any part of the world. The sjde.wajls of the passage are form ed of large stones, tolerably flat, with similar stones laid acrqss them tp,form .the top. We soon reaphed the, convenient interior of the, tuinu|us,. w(iere it was^ possible, not only to stand upright, but likewise, to walk freely about, the place be|ng neither more nor less than a small chapel, with three side chapels depend ing on it. ^e had brought with us a great number of candles. One pf these we suspend ed in the centre pf.the principaljjhapel, and in each,of the three smaller chapels we likewise placed a light, sticking the rest' to tlie walls as well as we cou|d; and amid this. illumination my eyeSc wapdere,(l, oyer fits, nipst remarkable and i'nteresting/spepinien, of old Cyclopean arphjtectujp(tj»at..l;^'ad,'ey^r behifd. Rude and sjfnple.as eyery, thipg.wa.^X^afit.will b^ dif- .fiqult to gife njy readers, 'any tilling like an ac curate idea of t(ie structure and . appearance of the place. There cannot be a doubt, but th,e chapels were bpilti before, the cairn was erectpd, |he materials of the fumulus would have made,' it ifnppssjble to have vyprked into its sides after wards. The chapel was, therefore, built first, and the pyramid of stpnes was piled upon its roof subsequently. In the mapper, of the build ing, the architects appear to have followed the p|au. adopted by children in making houses of cards. Large flat stones were placed on their edges tp form tjie sid,e and back walls, apd others.were laid, over them to form the ceiling. IRELAND. In this way, at least, the three lateral chapels were constructed, leaving the side open by which they communicate with the central ehapelu;) One of these dependent chapels is to wards the east, one towards the west, and one towards the north. Towards the south is the opening to the passage described above. The main difficulty with the old Cyclopean architects was to construct the vault of the central chapel. This difficulty has been solved thus : On the four firm bases presented by the roofs of the three lateral chapels, and by the colossal gateway to the narrow entrance-pas sage, large flat pieces of rock were laid, but projecting a little inward. On these, again, were placed similar masses of stone, projecting, a little more inward, and this operation was repeated three or four times, the flat stones be ing let into each other something like the fingers of a folded hand. The small hole that, at the end, remained at the top of the chapel, was closed by one gigantic stone, as a crown to the whole work. The weight of the enormous mass of flints by which tbe chapel was in time covered, only increased the solidity of the 3tones overlaid in the way I have described, and the whole stands indestructibly there, a pile to which eternity alone can assign a limit. The flints- were probably not heaped together all at once. In Arabia, in some parts of Afri ca, as well as in Ireland and Scotland, it is fre quently customary to raise a heap of stones on a sacred place, or over a grave. In Esthonia a- similar custom is often observed. Every pass er-by is expected to throw a stone upon the hallowed spot, accompanying the act by a pious wish or a short prayer. In this way large heaps of stones have been formed in all these countries^ Perhaps when the holy place was consecrated, a number of stones were in the first instance thrown upon it by the assembled multitude ; succeeding visiters and pilgrims may have done the same, till, in the course of centuries, the cairn rose to its present altitude. I have said that eternity alpne can assign a limit to the endurance of such a work ; for it is difficult to imagine any cause that might lead to the destruction of this monument, except the gradual decay of the stones themselves, and that must be the work of an incalculable series of centuries. Thousands of years have proba bly passed over these stones already, and that without leaving even a trace of decay. Vege tation even has not yet begun to develop itself in the interior. An earthquake, opening the ground, and swallowing up the whole tumulus, is almost the only natural eventthat could de stroy this primeval chapel ; but Ireland has never been visited by earthquakes, and will probably be spared by such calamities in future. As little is to be feared for this edifice from man as from nature ; for none of the motives which have led to the wilful destruction of old buildings can have any influence at New Grange. Many of our most ancient monu ments have fallen by human hands, because past associations and uses rendered them justly obnoxious to the people ; thus fell the Bastille at Paris, and many old castles and towers in Germany. Others' were demolished because their materials were wanted for other purposes. Many were destroyed from curiosity or avarice, by those who hoped to discover hidden treas ures or relics under them. Several Egyptian? pyramids, and royal sepulchres in the Crimea and other places, have been destroyed in this- way. A passion for the arts has been fatal to. other monuments ; for instance, to many beau tiful Greek temples. Of all these motives, not one is likely to arm' the inhabitants of Erin against monuments like- that of New Grange. Great blocks of stone like these, can hardly be of use to this or fu ture generations, unless the humanVace shoulcb return to its old barbarism, and our architectu ral science descend to the grade which it occu pied at the time when these Cyclopean monu- ments^were erected. And even in that case,. the neighbourhood possesses abundanceof stone which might be obtained far more easily. Ob noxious these chapels can scarcely ever be come, for the party contentions and sectarian- distinctions which may have existed at the pe riod of their erection, in the time of the Druids, died away long since so completely, that their regeneration is out of the question. The en thusiasts for art, who have so often robbed and? injured the temples of Greece and other coun tries, could scarcely find any temptations to- similar outrages upon these Irish antiquities,- which are only remarkable as a whole, and would lose all their interest when taken to pie ces. '-To .this rule, however, a few exceptions must he allowed, as I shall proceed to show. Avarice and curiosity are very unlikely to prove dangerous to these monuments ; for here no thing Is concealed from the eye, and every one can immediately convince himself that they contain, nothing but huge masses of stone. It is likely enough, therefore, that New Grange and other monuments of a similar kind, will outlast the towers of Babylon, the obelisks of Egypt, the temples of Greece, the knightly castles of the middle ages, and all present ex isting edifices. The reflection is calculated to> inspire the spectator with the strongest emo tions of interest and respect for these venerable relics of a remote antiquity, which will speak to so many future ages as they do to him. We now proceed to examine the separate curiosities ofthe little chapels. Each contains a large stone basin, and one of them is furnish ed with two of them. They all bear some re semblance to the fonts of Christian churches,. being large, round stones, about twenty feet in circumference, hollowed slightly at the top, so as to form a large shallow basin or saucer. The whole workmanship of these basins, how ever, is so rough and imperfect, that though they have been very evidently somewhat alter ed from their natural state, it is difficult to dis cover how this alteration has been effected. Neither chisel, knife, nor measuring stick, can. well have been used here. The cavities look as if they had heen caused by the long rubbing of one large stone upon another. One of the chapels contains, as I have said, two such ba sins, one within another. Perhaps the other chapels were formerly similarly provided, but have been robbed of their smaller basins by antiquarian collectors. » The northern chapel, which is opposite the entrance, is built ofthe largest stones. One of the basins was half-filled with water, which IRELAND. 83 seamed to have trickled together from the sides of the cavern. My guide told me that he had always found water there whenever he visited thrt chapel. Excepting these basins, very few traces of human industry are discoverable in the chapels. Here and there rude ornaments are carved on some ofthe stones. One stone, for, instance, is marked with several zigzag lines, running parallel to each other. On the surface of another are cut spiral lines, running round in six or seven diminishing circles, and ending in a point Others are marked with lit tle radiuses, or stars, which may perhaps Wave been intended, hy the star-worshipping Druids, to represert the objects of their adoration. A few of the stones are marked with rude draw ings, apparently intended to represent flowers and fruit All these marks are, however, very nidely cut. The most abundant are the spiral lines. At the foot of ope of the sidestones, in one ofthe chapels, an inscription is also shown, consisting of various characters entirely un known, which, according to Irish antiquarians, belong neither to the " Feadha," the common old Irish alphabet, nor to the " Ogham," the old Irish hieroglyphic or cipher. A stone, which forms the inner doorpost of the chapel, is cut with small parallel furrows from top to bottom, which look as if they had been caused by the pulling backwards and forwards for some time «f a number of ropes. When we consider the nize of this stone, it can have cost no trifling labour to make these marks, the purpose of which it seerns quite impossible to discover. These monuments, whether considered in de- fail or as a whole, are among the most interest ing I have ever beheld. It is a great pity that they are so concealed from general inspection, and that their inconvenient entrance renders them inaccessible to one half — namely, the feminine half of mankind. As we went out, I observed a numberless host of small gnats clusT tered together upon one ofthe stones ofthe in ner entrance. These little animals are now the solitary as well as the most ancient inhab itants of these colossal chambers. They with draw here every autumn to spend the winter, and fly out again in spring. When we had at last emerged into the open air again, we met a few Irish peasants, whom we questioned as to whom they imagined to have been the buijders of these caverns. They answered " the Danes," the usual answer given by tbe Irish, whenever questioned as to the or igin of any of their ancient monuments. It was the Danes, they say, who dug the moats, the Danes who built the old ruined castles, the Danes who erected the great barrows and cairns. Even the round towers are sometimes attributed by the common people to the Danes ; and among the minor vexations of the antiqua rian and the curious traveller, it may be men tioned that there are not wanting persons of cultivation, who ought to know better', and who yet ignorantly and thoughtlessly acquiesce in the common opinion. The Danes did not come to Ireland before the ninth, tenth, or eleventh century, and many of the monuments ascribed to them are of much older date. Besides, the Danes never occupied any but the eastern part of Ireland, yet the an tiquities ascribed to them are found in every part of the island, and in such .extraordinary numbers and variety, as alone to render the common conjecture highly improbable. On the other hand, however, the Irish are not wanting in bold imagination, and are prone to boast of the vast antiquity of every thing belonging to them. ; so that if no foundation at all existed for their popular theory, their national pride would probably have led them to imagine a far more remote antiquity for their ancient monu ments. These various considerations combined have led me to an hypothesis which, as far as I am aware, has never hitherto been entertained by any Irish antiquarians. It is, that the Irish people have confounded the Danes, commonly so called, with the much more .ancient nation of nearly the same name, that of the Danaans, who inhabited Ireland long before the birth of Christ. These Danaans, or Tuatha-de-Danaans were, aceording to Irish chroniclers, the third race which colonized Ireland. Of these Da naans, Thomas Moore, repeating the popular tradition, gives ihe following account: "They were a people much famed for necromancy. They had for some time inhabited Greece, where they.learned the art of magic, and whence they Wandered to the shores of the Baltic, and to Scandinavia. Here they came into the pos session of many wonderful treasures, among others the Stone of Destiny, the Magician's Spear, and the Magical Kettle, Armed with these marvellous gifts, the Danaan race grad ually found their way to Scotland'; whence finally, under the guidance of their chieftain, Nuad of the Silver Hand, they sailed over to Ireland. , They landed secretly, "under shelter of a magipial mist raised by their wonderful1 arts, and spreading themselves rapidly over the country, they fought and defeated the in habitants at the battle of Moytura, otherwise called the battle of the Field of the Tower." Now, since the Danaans were so famous for their skill in arts, even in magic arts, they may have covered Ireland with these monuments, with all of which popular superstitions are still connected ; and, since their name is pronounced almost exactly like that of the Danes, how likely is it that many of the works commonly attribu ted to the latter, may really be relics of the older " race ! For certain it is that rude Cyclopean; monuments, such as this of New Grange, can not but have stood here from the very remotest antiquity of Irish history. It is also a very prob able as well as generally received conjecture, that these barrows arid cairns were intended for religious purposes. Some imagine them to have been the sacred supulchral monuments of famous chieftains; others that' they were used as temples. Both may easily be in the right, for many nations use the graves of their dead as places of religious worship, and certain'Afri- can tribes use no other temples or altars than the graves of their Marabouts. Perhaps the ancient Danaans were in the habit of assem bling for religious ceremonies within these cairns, while the holy fire blazed at the same time on their summits. In Cornwall there is a cairn of this kind still, called the " Karn Lesky," or" Karn of Burnings." Perhaps ihe top ofthe tumulus was sacrpd to the Sun-god or celestial deities, while the caverns beneath were dedica- IRELAND. ted to the infernal powers. The .stone basins I have described, may have served as altars or sacrificial vessels. There are many similar tumuli along the shores ofthe Boyne, but they are none qf them so large or important as that of New Grange, except one at Dowth called the Moate of Dowth, Which appears exactly to resemble the former. If any thing, it is rather the higher and larger ofthe two, and is less overgrown than that of New Grange. At a place where the turf has been cut away, the material is rendered visible, and this cairn consists, like the one I visited, of enormous masses of flint, piled upon one an other. Upon one side an entrance has been discovered, exactly like that of New Grange, leading probably to a similar narrow cavernlike passage, and this passage to similar, or better still, to larger and somewhat different chapels, the comparison of which with those already known, might lead to most interesting discov eries. But to the disgrace of the proprietors apd gentry of the surrounding country, with their fortunes often thousand a year and more, the entrance has never been opened, and no part of the monument has ever been investiga- ted. I remember well how provoking I thought it, to find so many curious tumuli untouched and unopened in South Russia and among the Tar tars ; but I have ceased to wonder at that, now that I find such remarkable and interesting an tiquities standing as neglected and as unheeded ih the midst of a country like Great Britain, as did the pyramids in the African deserts. One would fancy that on English ground every relic offering attractions to antiquarians, artists, pr dilettanti, would have beep explored, ransacked, and classified over and over again ; yet this neg lected cairn at Dowth is no solitary instance. From the hill of Dowth we enjoyed a beauti ful view of the valley of the poyne, with a)l the tumuli scattered along its sides, and of the river winding along between theni, and towards the ¦west over Slane, where in former times existed a famous college, whose ruins are.still standing. Not far from Dowth, upon the lands, qf the Net- terville family, stand also the ruins .of. an old church, overgrown, as usual, with ivy, within the circuit of whose roofless walls stand yet the monuments of many families, who, after death "were brought 'hoipe to their peopje," as the Irish say. Among. others was a white marble monument of one of the Netterviljes, which looked. highly picturesque agaipst the, green, ivy andthegfaytold walls. I cannot .conceive how the EngfhA can go to Pere hvCbajse, ai>4 ad mire the tasteless and prosaic monuments there, while a visit- to a few of the old Irish church yards, would afford them, in the greatest abun dance, venerable and picturesque tombs,' and scenes of the highest interest. 'We have many collections of vieWs- of " English mansions ;" why have not a few English painters and wri ters' combined' to give the. world an illustrated work on " The Old Churchyards of Ireland V The painter indeed ought to be a Ruysdael, whose "Churchyard," in the Dresden gallery, muchresemWes, in beauty and poetry, art Irish churchyard ; and the writer ough* at least tp be a Moore 'Or Byron, who should know how to animate by the power of a poetical imagination, both the {esthetic and the historical part of his undertaking. These qld churchyards, lying, aimpng ivy-covered ruins and overshadowed hy venerable trees', often surrounded by the wild est and most striking scenery, within whpse, hallovyed precincts rich and poor lie. down tq rest together, are certainly characteristic ofthp condition and habits of the Irish people. The, Irish cling with inalienable constancy to every thing old, and can rest in peace only arnpng ths bones of their ancient chieftains, among the con secrated scenes of so many old legends and tra ditions, among the ruined witnesses pf their apr cient glory ; there generations after generations lie uown to their last repose, as if they hqped for a day of resurrection for these venerable; ruins of antiquity, as well as for themselves. At every turn, however, in Ireland, you meet with things of which the ljke is nowhere to be found in any other part of Europe. On our re turn to Drogheda, we met a funeral, and I obr served that the hearse was very rudely made. Upon my inquiring the reason of this, I was tqjd that very little trouble was wasted here upon the hearse, because it was the custom never t« use it again, but immediately after tbe burial to break it up and throw the pieces into the gnaw. I afterwards found that this custom was gen eral all over the north of Ireland. J. bad. scarcely re-entered Drogheda by one gate, before I drove out of it by another, in pur suance of the reso)ut'Pn taken by some zealous antiquarians, with whom. I had the good fortune tp become acquainted at Drogheda, and whp.re- fused to let me continue my journey, until Ihad enjoyed with tftern. an examination #f the far- famed " Mpnasterbaicfe," These fatuous monastic ruins lie a few rnilep north of Drogheda, and I visited them the ne-xt day. They, consist of a round tower* and some ruins of churches, and as they lie apart from the main road we drove to them by a narrow by- lane- MonftstfCrboice,. or, as the Irish say, Mmn- a?tir*Butfc, the Monastery of Suite . or. Bpetius» CWes. its Of.'Sm to a fjjmous abbot or. bishop of that name, a pupji qf St. Patrick, who lived to wards, the, end,of.ithe fifth century. Many an- cient abbots of this monastery distinguished themselves in various ways,iand. rendered their names famous . in , Irish history ; the most cele brated of, these was F'aun, who died indheyear j,05t>,. JHe,.'s the Uts,t, great source or original aptbprityjnrnatters.of Irishihistpry,; poetry, and eloquence; and the traditional ballads of the people thus, a||ude, tp him -s great The last professor of .the country1 of the three Films •vyas Flana," Many ancjentt Irish poems are, still ascribed; to him, but the.workbjf wihich hehas attainBclthe? greatest celebrity, in ,his'*Syn,chronisms of the Irish Kings,, the oriental and Roman emperors^ the provincial and national rulers oi Ireland, and the Scottish lungs if Irish descent. Monasterbpice, so long the seat of piety and learning, lost its importance and fell into ruin* when the English conquered the kingdom of Meath* to which it belonged- Not far from the ruins rose a bare and barren hillock, w|th a few wretched cabins at the top, ahd then, the road led down into the plain, ia the centre of whose barren and monotonous waste stood the desolate and solitary ruins. IRELAND. 85 They formed a picturesque though melancholy spectacle, and while all around was bare and naked, they offered shelter to a few old trees which overshadowed, them. Near the great round tower, round whose lofty but broken sum mit fluttered numbers of ravens and rooks, and between the low Ohurch-walls, all covered with ivy, stood a few large stone crosses, quite erect and in perfect preservation, and the intervening spaces were, as usual, filled with old decaying, and with newly-erected grave-stones. The dark colour ofthe turf-covered plain around, the light yellowish hue of the foliage that clustered among the ruins, and the bright green verdure •which grew up at the feet of the buildings, all these varieties of tint tended to give a most picturesque appearance to the interesting littre group of crosses, churches, tower, and grave stones. Add to this, that not a creature was anywhere to be seen, except myself and the guide whom I had hired at the last cabin, and that'the whole sky, as is often the case in Ireland, ¦feas covered with masses of clouds of gigantic !jjroportions and the wildest and most fantastic forms. I had here again to remark the accura cy with which a much esteemed Irish writer, tiamed Petri, thus describes one great peculiari- >ty of Irish senery. " The colours with which nature has painted the surface of Erin, are pe culiar to our island. There is not a shade of green which does not adorn her soil, from the slightest and yellowest tint, to the darkest blue orbrown green. In no other country is the ver dure so varied, so rich, and so brilliant. Even our bogs, by the great variety and contrast of "Colours, purple, red, brown, and black, which they present to the eye, add beauty and anima tion to out landscapes, and complete the nation al individuality of our scenery. Even our clouds have peculiarities of their own, chiefly result ing from the dampness of our climate. They liave a grandeur in their shapes and proportions, •and a power and variety in their light and shade, which is seldom seen in other countries. Irish "clouds are at one moment bright and sunny;: ^kid', in the next moment, throwing thejr dark 'Shadows over the landscape, they infold it in; tinelancholy gloom." Ireland is certainly the richest " cloud-land" :m Europe, and every landscape painter ought to eorne here to study her cloud phenomena. Not unapt symbols are these cloud phenomena ofthe political and moral fate of poor Erin ! As clouds iifter clouds rise continually from the Atlantic rOCe.an, and form themselves into an ever-shift ing, ever-changing mantle of darkness, scantily interspersed with gleams of watery light, so there rise continually clouds after clouds from !the troubled ocean of history, to overshadow, in ever-changing forms, the oppressed and sad dened people, who dream on in melancholy de spair, but seldom and briefly permitted to sport in the waTm sunshine of prosperity and hope. In studying the natural scenery of the country, we are continually reminded of the national character, history1, and condition of its inhabi tants. Who that watches the ever-shifting clouds of an Irish sky, can help thinking of Moore's poems : ;'*Erih, the tear and the .smile in thine byes," of his weeping stars, u At the mid-hour of night, when stars are Weeping,' or of his sudden gleams of light, " "Tis gone, and for ever, the light we saw breaking," or of his sunbeams amidst rain • " Though dark are our sorrows, to-day we'll forget them, And smile through oui tears, like a sunbeam in showeis." We at length arrived at the ruins themselves ; and, at the same time, there arrived one of those stormy and picturesque clouds which we had admired so much as they passed over the land scape. The hail rattled down among the stones of the old ruins, and for shelter we were obliged to creep into the round tower, whose door was luckily near enough to the ground to allow of our/entrance. This tower has the usual height of 110 feet, and the usual circumference of fifty feet ; and though there is something interesting in visiting One of these curious and remarkable buildings, however familiar one may have be come with them, the tower of Monasterboiee has certainly nothing to distinguish it from oth ers of the same kind. The ruined churches, also, are remarkable only for their picturesque beauty. What renders this spot most interest ing, however, are three remarkable crosses erected in honour of three Irish saints, St. Pat rick, Boetius, and Columb Kill. These crosses belong to the most interesting Christian antiqui ties of Ireland, for they are better preserved than most of the remains of a similar character, and very elaborately decorated. They are built pf great blocks of stone, placed one upon an other, and are between twenty and thirty feet in height. Their shape is very peculiar. Upon a broad stone pedestal stands a block of stone, about fourteen feet high, to the top of which is fastened a cross, formed of four arms of equal length, narrowing towards the centre and wi dening at the ends, like those used by the Malt ese knights. The arms of the cross are bound by a large stone ring or circle, whose segments pass round from arm to arm, and stone cross and stone ring seem united into one figure. Ped estals, crosses, and rings are all covered with curious sculptures, which offer interesting sub jects of investigation to Irish antiquaries. They prove the existence of a quite peculiar style of Christian art in the early Irish church, and re mind US, by the manner of their lines and draw ings, of the paintings and decorations in Some old illuminated Irish manuscripts which we had seen at a library in Dublin. The block and arms of the cross had, of course, each four sides, and the edges between these were bound with little spiral lines, while the sides were divided into small squares, each containing a scene from scripture history— Ad am and Eve, Cain and Abel, Paradise, Hell, the Crucifixion, &c. I noticed a couple of harpers in Paradise. I suppose no Irishman of the old en time would have thought Paradise compete without his beloved national instrument The borders and ornaments here and there in troduced to fill up, were very curious. In one place I noticed serpents twining round a human head ; in another a female figure with a large . dog hanging to each ear. These were probably scenes of torture from the Irish Hell. Two lono- slender dogs, twisted Curiously together, like" snakes, recurred very often. I have never been able to discover the meaning of these dogs, seen so continually on all old Christian monu ments in Ireland. Another very peculiarifigure, IRELAND. whicV, I found on many Irish antiquities, and among others on these crosses of Columba, was a regular circleywifhin which were drawn great numbers of fine wavy or knotted lines, running spirally to the centre. Upon one <5f these fig ures a small hand was neatly carved in bas-relief upon the stone , I began to conjecture what meaning the monks of Columba could have in tended to convey by these doubtless symbolical ljues: and unable to invent any better hypothe sis, I conjectured that this circle signified the world, that these snaky and wavy lines symbol ized the strange turbulent labyrinths and whirl pools of human passion and suffering, which that world contains, and that the hand, stand ing forth in relief from the drawing, represent ed the guiding hand of the Father and Ruler of all things, who, directing and superintending those confused intricacies, would one day re solve them all into harmonious order. • After busying myself in these interesting speculations for some time, I turned round and asked my guide what was his conjecture as* to the meaning of the figure. He respectfully took off his hat, and said, " I'll fell your honour. You see, there was a woman that had baked a pancake one Sunday, contrary to the^cominand- ment : so when she went to lay hold of the cake to take it up, it stuck to her hand, and she could never get it off again ; and holy St. Patrick had the story carved in stone here for an everlast ing lesson and warning to us, to keep holy the Sundays and holydays. That's it, your hon our." So saying, Paddyput on his hat again. At the foot of one of the crosses were sculp tured various monsters and reptiles, probably emb|etnatic of heathenism and the, foes of Christianity, over whom the cross now reared its triumphant head. " These crosses, your honour, were never set up by human hand," said my guide. "They were brought over from Rome by angels ; and when they were laid in the churchyard, they got up of themselves, and put themselves upon the pedestal, just as your honour sees them. The angels hadn't even to put a hand to it, your hon our. The crosses did it all of themselves. The cross of holy Columb Kill is the only one put up by human hands." Colurnb Kill is a saint of very great reputa tion both in Ireland and Scotland. He is some times called Columba, which name was given him on account of the dovelike simplicity and innocence of his character. Kill is the old Irish word for church, so that his name, at full length, signifies, " the dove of Ihe church." The cross erected to his honour among the ruins of Mon- asterboice has fallen down once, and has been put up again in a very broken state. It stands in a square hole on the pedestal, and this hole is partially filled with water. My guide assured me that this water never dried up, however long , a drought there might be. Sick people come "from far and wide to bathe their diseased limbs in " the sweat of Columba's cross." The peas antry also scratch off the scanty moss growing on the surface of the cross, and mix it with the tea they dripk, '" for good luck." I do not know whether, in any other part of Cristendom," it has ever been the custom to erect fine large crosses in the open air in honour of particular saints. I returned on foot tq the little cabin upon the barren hillock where we had left our cars, and as a hard shower of hail was falling over the dark plain and among the old ruins, I was compelled, for the sake 6f shelter, to take a clo ser inspection ofthe interioroftliiscabin. This gave me an opportunity of watching the prep aration of those oat-cakes which play so im portant a part in the national cookery both of Ireland and Scotland, and which are even found carved upon their monuments, as I have above described, These far-famed cakes are made of oats very roughly ground. The coarse flour is mixed with water, into a thick gritty paste, and spread upon a warmed iron plate. This round iron plate, which is found in the poorest Irish cabins, is warmed by a handful of lighted straw placed underneath it, -and in a few moments the cooking process is over, the paste being taken off in the shape of a hard, thin, dry biscuit. This paste is dignified by the name of cake, and is eaten daily by the poor Scotch and Irish. These cakes are not much more palatable than a mixture of flour and water, made dry and hard, would be, yet many people are passionately fond of them. The Irish generally assure the stran ger, when they show him their oat-cakes, that these are a particularly wholesome, nourishing, and.strengthening kind of food, which can he true only when they are compared with the watery, tasteless, and meager potatoes upon which the Irish have to subsist. The English, generally very curious about our black bread, and to whom the word " black " seems to convey a kind of horror,* often repeat that with them people would never think of giving such a mess to any but horses ; forgetting that with us nobody would think of giving oats to any but horses, and forgetting how many millions of hungry poor there are in their empire who would be most thankful for this despised black bread, and whom. it would certainly nourish much better than oat- paste which they call cake, and the nourishing. qualities of which they praise so highly. During my stay at Drogheda I had an oppor tunity of hearing the far-famed Irish harp, the ancient national instrument of the island. A catholic priest gave us an Irish musical soirte,. which was so interesting to me, that I consider it as one ofthe most agreeable soirees at which I ever was present. The room of this catholic priest,, like that of most Irish patriots, was dec orated with the portraits of O'Connell, Father Mathew, and Thomas Moore. I scarcely knew O'ConnpIl again, for he was represented in a stately robe edged with fur, and wore his lord mayor's chain round his neck, which gave him a most royal appearance. Father Mathew was represented standing on a grassy mound in the open air. Behind him, in the dark background, rose the cross, and the clouds being parted just over his head, a stream of light surrounded it like a glory. Around him kneeled and stood a crowd of persons, to whom he was preaching. This picture was interesting, ae significant of the kind of adoration which Father Mathew re ceives in Ireland. Drogheda is the last genuine Irish town. Farther north, every thing becomes more Scotch than Irish. In Drogheda the population is still * We have "Hack bears," " black ink," " black night," but " black bread," Good heavens ! what an idea I IRELAND. 87 almost exclusively catholic, and this city is, •therefore, a great darling of O'Connell's, and most zealous in his cause and that of repeal. The suburbs of Drogheda are genuine Irish sub urbs, composed of wretched, dirty hovels, and a greatmany people are to be found in the neigh bourhood who speak the old Irish tongue more, fluently and frequently than the English. AH these things rendered me desirous, before leav ing the place, to hear some of that wild nation al poetry and music which I had often heard so -much spoken of. The first minstrel who made his appearance -was an Irish declaimerof the lower orders, eith er a carpeqter, a gardener, or a " broken farm er,"* I know not wttich, but who, as I was told, was acquainted with a great number of old Irish songs and legends.' He entered, and thus addressed me : " Out offriendship for this man" ¦(meaning the priest), " I am come ; he tells me that there is a stranger here who wishes to hear something of our old Irish songs, and I will gladly repeat to him those I know." " I thank 'you," said the priest, " but if you were to repeat all you know, we should have to "listen all night, I suppose, and many other nights as well." " Yes, indeed, our ancestors have bequeathed to us great numbers of songs, and very beauti ful ones too, sir. If you could only understand them ! What a beautiful song is that of ' To- -ber a Yollish,' that is of the glittering spring, which is only three miles off from our town ; and that other of Cuchullin, the Irish champion, ¦who went over Scotland. Please your rever ence, shall I begin with Cuchullin':" " Do, my son, and God bless you." The man began to recite, and went on unin terruptedly for a quarter of an hour. His story, of which I of course understood not a word, but which my friendly host afterwards explained to me, treated of a Scottish enchantress, named Aithuna, who, forsaken by her Irish lover, Cu chullin, laid a cruel spell upon their son Kon. nell, which compelled him by an irresistible en chantment, and entirely against his will, to fol low, to persecute, to fight, and at last to destroy his fatherCuchullin. At the last moment, af ter stabbing his father to the heart, in spite of the efforts by which he struggled to resist the horrible impulse of his destiny, his own heart broke in the struggle, ahd son and father died together, while the revengeful spirit of the cru el enchantress hovered in exultation over the dying, repeating to her treacherous lover the story of his inconstancy and her revenge. I was glad of an opportunity of assuring my self by oral demonstration of the actual exist ence of Ossianic poetry like this at the present day. The reciter was, as I have said, a simple and ignorant man, with a good deal of the clown about him, and his recitation was as simple, un adorned, and undeclamatory as himself. Some times, however, when carried away by the in terest of his story, his manner and voice were animated and moving ; at such times he fixed his eyes on his hearers, as if demanding their sympathy and admiration for himself and his poem. Sometimes I noticed that the metre completely changed, and I was told that this * The broken farmers in Ireland very often turn bards .and reciters. was the case with all Irish poems, for that the metre was always made to suit the subject. I also heard that the most beautiful part of this balled was the dialogue of father and son upon the battle-field ; but that a prose translation would give me no idea at all of its beauty. Our bard next recited a " song of the Fairy Mounts." The story was that'so often repeat ed in Ireland, of a fairy queen who falls in love with a mortal youth whom she finds sleeping on a mountain top, and whom she invites to fly to fairyland with her, endeavouring to tempt him by descriptions of the splendour and attrac tions of her fairy palace. He consents, on condition that when he dies, he shall be brought home to his people ; which condition being granted, they go to fairyland together. While listening to the explanation of this poem,- 1 was often reminded of Goethe's Erl-King, and of many Russian and Tartar legends of similar import. I used to fancy that the story of the Erl-King was of German origin, but now I rath er imagine it to have originated in Ireland, and to have traversed the whole of Europe, termi nating in Asia. Our reciter informed us that most of his po ems were of "venerable antiquity," and were Ossianic poetry. This Ossianic poetry, he said, was very abundant in the neighbourhood of Drogheda. This I had heard before, and from all I heard in Ireland, I am much inclined to believe — what indeed many have also conjec tured — that Macpherson obtained the materials for his version of Ossian's poems from popular traditions and ballads in the north of Ireland. The whole Irish nation, both in the south and north, is certainly much more imbued with the spirit of this poetry, ' and posses many more traces of it, than the Scottish people, whether ofthe Highlands or Lowlands. Ossian is now generally believed to have been no Scotchman, but an Irishman, born at Tara, the ancient capital of Ireland. His father, Fingal, is more properly called Fin Mac Cul. " Fin Mac Cul was as great a hero in those days, as our Irish' Wellington in these," said our old reciter. The Scotch and Irish dispute every inch of debata ble ground in their ancient history, and quarrel as much about their old heroes, as about their saints and missionories. Doubtless the shrewd er and more active Scotch have decorated their traditions with many borrowed plumes from the Emerald Isle. Macpherson was not the only, although the luckiest and cleverest falsifier of ancient Irish minstrelsy. These. recitations were followed by music from that national instrument of which the Irish poet, Samuel Lover, sings : " Oh ! give, me one strain Of that wild harp again ; In melody proudly its own, Sweet harp of the days that are gone !" The harp was brought out, and a blind young harper advanced, who was, as I was- told, one ofthe most distinguished harpers in the neigh bourhood ; and in fact his music enraptured us all. The first piece he played was " Brian Boru's March." Brian Boru was a great Irish hero, who raised himself to be king of all Ire land, and defeated the Danes at the great battle of Clontarf, in 1014. Shortly after the battle, however, he was killed by the Danish leader 88 IRELAND. Bruadair, arid Erin thus, while she gained a great victory, lost a great chief. The music of this march is wildly powerful, and at the same time, melancholy. It is at once the music of victory and of mourning. The rapid modula tions and wild beauty of the airs, was such that I think this march deserves fully to obtain a ce lebrity equal to that of the Marseillaise and the Ragotsky. When the Irish listen to these old airs and think of these old deeds, while their hearts beat at the remembrance of their ancient glory, they do not forget their present degradation, and look forward with almost as much confidence to a free and glorious future, as they look back to wards a free and glorious past. " V.at, 'Isle of the West, Rear thy emerald crest, Songs of tHumph shall yet ring for thee." So sjrtgs Lover. The march of Brian Boru was followed by an air called the Fairy Queen, which I was told was a very old Irish melody. Old or not, lean testify that it is a charming piece of music, so tender, so fairy-like, and at the same time so wild and sweetly playful, that it can represent nothing but the dancing and singing of the elves and fairies; by moonlight. I afterwards heard this piece on the pianoforte, but it did not sound half so soft and sweet as from the instrument of this blind young harper. Although I enjoy ed the latter part of my evening's entertain ment, Which was given in a language so uni versally intelligible as music, much more than I had done the former, yet I shall not attempt further to describe that enjoyment ; for of all the fine arts, music is the one of whose beau ties it is most impossible to convey any ade quate idea by criticism or description. We were very much delighted with our harp er, who was certainly an accomplished artist, yet Ireland contains many of still greater abili ty and celebrity. The most celebrated of all, however, is a man named Byrne, blind also, if I do not mistake. When, therefore, Moore mournfully sings, " The harp that once through Tara's balls The soul of music shed. Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls, As if that' soul were fled," his lamentation must not be literally under stood. Many harps still resound in Ireland, and a new harper's society has just been set on foot in Drogheda, of which the priest who gave us this entertainment is the life and soul. His whole room was crowded with harps, old and new. A harper's school is connected with this society, which alreadv numbers sixteen pupils. When I was in Drogheda, a concert was in preparation, to be given next week, at which seven harpers,' mostly blind, were1 to play to gether. I regretted that it was impossible for me to be present at this meeting. The greatest gatherings of Irish bards used to take place in '• Tara's halls," to which Moore's poem alludes. This Tara, so frequently mentioned in the songs, poems, orations, and conversations of patriotic Irishmen, is now a small village a few miles from Drogheda, not far from New Grange. It was once the capital of Ireland, and a hall or palace stood there, in which the heathen kings and chieftains of Ireland assembled, probably at very different times and for very different pur poses, but at least once every tnree years, to debate on matters of general concern. Ollam Fodhla is suid to have. instituted these assem blies about 200 years before Christ. The bards followed their chieftains to these meetings, in order to sing their deeds and-glories at the ban quets and on all festal occasions. Not only the laws agreed upon by the chieftains at these meetings, but also the principal national events of the intervening years, were recorded in a sort of national register kept at Tara, the con tents of which were set to music and sung by the bards. The last of these great na tional assemblies at Tara, took place in the year 554 after the birth of Christ, during the reign of King Diarmid. This was at the time when Christianity and the Christian priest hood had already become powerful in Ireland. When the old heathen institutions and castes- were gradually swept away, that of the bards,.. who had formed a powerful and privileged caste, like the ulemas of Turkey and the Druids of their own country, was likewise thrust aside. Once it happened that a criminal who had taken refuge in a monastry, was torn from his sanc tuary and executed at Tara, The monks loudly expressed their horror of this sacrilege, and proceeding in solemn procession to the palace pf Tara, they pronounced a curse upon its walls. Since that day neither bards nor chieftains have met within the halls of Tara ; and the convent that dared to pronounce a curse upon the an cient and venerable council-hall of the Irish kings, has been known since by the name of the Convent of the Curse. My Irish friends assured me that it is a pecu- , liarity of the Irish language, that it has no vul gar dialect. The, most ignorant Irish speak it with as much purity and grammatical correct ness as the most learned. This could not be the case with the English language, because this half Norman, half Saxon tongue has been forced upon conquered races, and each race,, in learning English, has mixed up with it some thing of its own ancient idiom. Thus thereis- a Scotch, a Welsh, an Irish, ;and a Com wall, di alect. The English dialects are very different from those of Germany ; being mere illegiti mate corruptions and perversions of the pure English, while our German dialects are different branches of the same language, each possessing its own peculiar beauties and partisans, its own organic life, its own literature and poetry. One of the, gentlemen present at the musical soirie assured me that he possessed a great number of beautiful old poems in .manuscript,, which had long been hereditary in his family, and of which not one had ever been printed. He, like many of his countrymen, was of opin ion that the fragments of Ossianic poetry which Macpherson had given to the world, were, per verted and very imperfect specimens, and that his poems could convey no real idea of the beauty and variety of the national Irish poetry from which they were taken. This statement seems to me very probable, and the question naturally presents itself, why no genuine Irish Macpherson, zealous both for truth and his country's fame, comes forward to collect the precious relics of ancient Irish poetry, and by translating them into some modern language, to save what can be saved of the poetical treas - IRELAND. 89 tires of ancient Ireland 1 The martuscrrpos, carefully and revefentially preserved as they are, in the families to which they belong, are yet becoming daily less and less numerous The memory of the people, however correct and faithful iti may be, cannot but gradually falsify and lose some of the beauties of the originals. The number also of those who can enjoy these poems in the ancient tongue is daily diminish ing, for the English language is continually ma king more and more progress in Ireland, and uprooting the dominion ofthe ancient Irish. The Irish continually assure the stranger, that their poems are quite untranslatable, and would be as totally spoiled by transplanting into another language, as a beautiful flower by being covered with -ituated the church and the mansion of the rector and owner ofthe island. Like the opposile coast of Ireland the island is evidently of vulcanic origin ; the basis is chalk and limestone, over which lies a mass of black basalt, running into large and handsome columns, and corresponding to a hair with the formation ofthe opposile coast of Ire land. The tides and currents which exist in its neighbourhood are very peculiar, like those al ready mentioned near the south-east corner of the county of Wexford. As in the vicinity of Wexford, and its promontory Carnsore Point, the tide flowing in from the Atlantic Ocean turns to the north, and runs up the Irish Sea beyond Dublin, §o here by Rathlin it takes a turn to the Spufh and meets the opposite tide near Carling- ford Bay, where it is observed to come in and go out in two opposite directions at the, same time. Rathlin lies at the vortex ofthe two currents, exactly where the flood tide turns to the south and the ebb to' the east, and where there arises a struggle that ;makes itself felt along the whole coasi of Antrim, Derry, and Donegal, as far as Malin Head, but is strongest in the strait be tween Rathlin and the mainland. From these circumstances there arise, as Hamilton observes, many irregularities in the tides, which, how ever, he does not attempt to explain. There are, for instance, places on the coast where, instead ofthe tide giving six hours flood and six of ebb, the former lasts nine and the latter only three hours. The sailors who come to the coast of Ireland are obliged to pay great attention to these peculiarities. A vessel leaving Dublin could, if the wind were favourable, get as far as Garlingford with the flood tide from the south, and' proceed farther to the north with the ebb. When the tide again turned she could enter the waters of Rathlin, and the back current would carry her westward to Malin Head, whence she might take advantage ofthe ebb to get out info the Atlantic The waters of Rathlin being thus disturbed twice every day, are rough enough, even in the most tranquil weather, but when it blows a gale they become so violently agitated as to be scarce ly navigable at all, not only for the little coast ers, but even for ships ofthe largest size. The prevailing winds, as well as the greatest tides, coming in of course from the open ocean, the western side of Rathlin presents a magnificent spectacle of enormous waves dashing, for ever upon its shore. In winter so tempestuous a sea rages round the island, that its inhabitants are sometimes cut ofl for months from all commu- 11 -ation with any other land than their own. Such a place seems well adapted to afford a refuge to a fugitive king, and accordingly Rob- jert Bruce found an asylum there, when compelled ,to fly his kingdom shortlyafter his coronation. He came hither with three hundred armed men, in the autumn ofthe year 1306, and amid , the basaltic rocks, the storms, and the boiling surf of Rathlin, defied all pursuit; and, returning to Scotland in the spring, began the eventful war which terminated, in 1314, in the glorious vic tory of Ba'nnpckburn. . . When Bruce landed the island was, as it is now, inhabited by a simple race that sulsisled by fishing, tending a few sheep, and by cultiva ting a few patches of oats. At first they fled from the sight of the mail-clad knight and his followers; but when they found that he treated them with kindness and gentleness, they daily brought food to their guests— fish, mutton, and oatcakes— and- ended by choosing him for iheir chief, and delivering up to him for a dwelling, a castle that had stood since the most ancient times upon the island, and the ruins of which, bearing the name of Bruce Castle, are still to be seen on a lgfty perpendicular rock rising from the water on its eastern side, whence1 there is a view into Scotland. The ruins at present consist of little more than some fragments, of walls. The present successor of Robert Bruce in the dominion ofthe island is a Mr. Gage, who being also rector ahd chief magistrate, is at the same time temporal and spiritual head of Rathlin, be sides being the ground landlord, and rules it by more titles than many a, king does his kingdom, although the external splendour of a crown may be wanting to him. This gentleman is a vassal of the Antrim family, holding the island by a lease for ever, granted in 1740, and pays a trifling tribute to Lord Antrim, who, though Mr- Gage is the proprietor, bears the title of Chief of Rath lin, but never attempts to interfere in the affairs ofthe island. The tenants ofthe rector are alt what are called tenants " atwUl," that is, they can at his pleasure be deprived of their land and driv en from the island. Mr. Gage, if he were sp in clined, might fix his residence at Dublin, or any other place, and farm out its revenues to a mid dleman, who might again divide and distribute the island to other middlemen, and so there might be an ascending ladder, up to the sovereign her self (to whom, under certain circumstances, the island may revert), the whole weight of which, would press on the neck of the wretched, tenantj. as it really happens in many cases in Ireland. One of the conditions under which, not only this island but all the possessions ofthe Antrim family, would fall to the crown, is that of failing to sepd a certain number of falcons to the vicer roy of Ireland, on the anniversary of the feasf of St. John the Baptist. In the same manner the island of Rathlin would revert to the Antrim family if Mr. Gage should neglect payment of the tribute, or " Chief-rent." The number of inhabitants in Rathlin amounts to about eleven hundred — or rather did so in 1758, when the ruler of the island laid on them a tax of a, shilling a head, in order to build a new mass-house, as they call here what would be elsewhere termed a Catholic church. The sum was not obtained without difficulty, for the islanders resisted the attempt to number them, under the belief that some one was sure to die out of every famjly whose heads were counted. Even in this island the relation between the Catholics who are ruled, and the Protestants who rule, is the' same as over all Ireland. The rector and proprietor, who resides here with his farni'y the whole year, and is possessed of all imaginable comforts and enjoyments, is a Prot estant; but his poor tenants and vassals, from whom he derives his income, and who, in order to pay it, haye to fish in these stormv seas, to raise oats, and gather sea- weed, are poor Catho lics, with the exeeptipn.pflahout seventy or eighty IRELANP. 105 of their number. The Protestant rector, how ever, pays a Catholic priest, and, as I have said, maintains a mass-house. He is said to keep his subjects in very good order. In winter, of course, he leads rattier a solitary life, but in summer he receives many visits from friends and relations in Ireland and Scotland. His eld est son will be rector and owner of the island after him ; the youngest will probably be advan ced to some other benefice through the father's interest in the church. Such is the course of things in the established episcopal church of Ireland. The sheep of Rathlin bear a very high char acter on account of the excellence of the pastu rage. In the north of Ireland these sheep go by the name of Rashries, an appellation also be stowed on the islanders, who, on account of their simplicity and rudeness, are often the subject of merriment to the continentalisls, for Ireland ap pears, with respect to the island of Rathlin, in the light of a continent. The Irish language is spoken in this as in most of the other islands, and in those of Scotland the Gaelic has kept its place longer than in the rest of the country. The horses of the- island are as remarkably small as those of the Scottish islands, and as those also of the island of Gothland in the Baltic sea. A story is even told of the Rathlin people having run away terrified from a good-sized horse thai was brought over from Ireland, regarding it as a monster. The only quadrupeds native to the island are rats and mice. Foxes were once sent over with a view to make a new hunting-ground for the Antrim family ; but the people, who ha ted the foxes, found means to induce the hunts men to disobey orders, whereupon the Antrims levied a yearly tax, for the privilege of remain ing free from foxes. The people appear to have a great dread of these animals, for I once heard a woman say to a child who was crying, " Be still, or the fox shall fetch you !" This might sound comical enough to an African mother, who would probably threaten her child with the lion. In Germany the wolf generally plays this part, but in Russia the wolf is too common, and, people are obliged to have recourse to the bear. The islanders, as I have said, cultivate a, lit tle barley and oats, but one of their principal sources of profit consists in gathering sea- weed, and making kelp. They gather the weed after a storm from the shore, or cut it from the rocks where it grows, and spread if out in the sun tb dry. In the evening they gather it together in heaps, which, the next day, are again spread out to dry. When the plants are sufficiently dry, they make a hole in the ground, line it with stones, and burn the weed slowly and cautiously to ashes. The vegetable salts fall to the bottom of the hole, and are taken out and sold in a mass, for the Rathlin people have not the skill to sep arate from it several foreign substances with which it is combined. This preparation of kelp provides occupation to many ofthe inhabitants along the whole northern coast of Ireland, and the southwestern coasts of Scotland ; and a con siderable trade is carried on in' the exportation of the article to England. The greatest punish ment, it is said, which is ever inflicted on a Rathlin man, is to banish him to the mainland ef Ireland, which the islanders regard entirely as a foreign country; the same thing, I remember ed, had been told me concerning the people of the island of Runoe in the Gulf of Riga. Small as is the island of Rathlin, it is said its inhabitants are divided into two quite distinct races. The western, or longer end, called Ken- ramer, is rocky and mountainous, but the little hollows and valleys there are fertile and well cultivated; it is, however, entirely destitute of harbours, whilst the tract called Ushet is level and barren, but very accessible, and offers abun-,, dant shelter for shipping. The Ushet men are therefore the fishermen, sailors, and merchants ofthe island, and carry on a lively trade with Ihe neighbouring little Scotch and Irish market- towns. They generally speak English, and have lost many of their insular peculiarities. The Kenramer men, on the other hand, live apart and independently on their wing of the island, culti vate their fields, and dimb their rocks in search of the eggs of the sea-fowl. This forms one of their chief occupations ; and as many ofthe rocks rise perpendicularly out of the sea to a height of 750 feet, the manner of reaching the nest is by means of a rope let 'down from the edge of the precipice. They often go out quite alone for this purpose, and fastening their rope to some pro jecting point, draw themselves up and down as the jOccasion may require. As they have little intercourse with strangers, they have, of course, preserved their Irish language, and their primi tive manners, more pure than the men of Ushet. The difference between these two races is so striking, and they are themselves so well aware of it, that in difficult works, in which the rock- climbing Kenramers and the maritime Ushet' men must the employed together, they often point out the posts to which it will be necessary to ap point East and West Islanders. As the Isle of Man was formerly an apple of discord between England and Scotland, so has, Rathlin been between Scotland and Irelahd. Many of the quarrels of Scotch and Irish chief tains have been fought out on this spot; and many of the tombs discovered on a little plain in- the centre of the island, and the numerous bronze swords and lance-heads dug up there, prove it to . have been the scene of more than one sanguinary* struggle. The cruelties perpetrated here by the clan ofthe Campbells in one of these forays, re mained so long in the memory of the Rathlin people, that so late as the end ofthe last century no one bearing this name was allowed to land on the island, and indeed the law to that effect has never been repealed. From the earliest period of Irish history, Rath lin has been mentioned as an inhabited place; and in the fifth century the Scotch and Irish apostle, St. Columba, founded here a monastery,. which, like so many other pious establishments of the kind in Ireland, flourished till the com mencement of the ninth century, when the great barbarian deluge which had flowed over Ger many, France, Italy, England, Ireland, and Scot land, swept even across the little island of Rath lin, and buried its holy edifice in ruin. CAPE FAIR HEAD. As the continuance of the gale frustrated my intention of visiting Rathlin, I resolved to exe cute two other excursions which I had planned from Ballycastle, one to the celebrated north eastern Irish promontory of Benmore, or Fair Head, and the other eastward to the Giant's Causeway. The great masses of basaltic rock which lie eastward from Ballycastle, form a kind of plateau or table-land, presenting a steep- cliff on the seaside, but declining a little to- 106 IRELAND. wards the interior, so as to mingle with the other highlands of the county of Antrim. On the land-side this plateau is covered with a damp marshy soil, overgrown with moss and grass. and there are a few farms upon it, of which the holders are occupied in grazing cattle. To wards the sea, however, where the rock falls -abruptly with a precipice of five or six hundred .feet* the naked black basalt alone is visible. The highest point, about six hundred and thirty- six feet above the level of the sea, is Cape Ben- more or Fair Head. Visiters generally drive to a little farm, called the Farm of the Cross, which lies in a hollow immediately behind the Head, and where tbe waters have collected into two iittle lakes,, one called Lough Dhu, or,, Black Lake, and the other Lough Naerana, or, the Lake of the Island. At the farm it becomes necessary to leave one's carriage and proceed the rest of the way on foot. The farmer, Pat rick Jamesson, who drives his cows to the very brow of Benniore, was to serve as my guide, -and was accompanied by a servant or neighbour. The little island in the Lake Naerana it tra -ditionally stated to have been built by the Dru ids, and employed in their religious worship It rises in a perfectly regular oval figure from the surface of the water, and consists entirely of black basaltic rock, fragments of which lie round the shores of the lake in great numbers Its position in the middle of a lake on the sum mit of a vast headland, is certainly one which they would have been likely to choose. Benmore is mentioned by Ptolemy (it is his .Mohogdium Promontoriuvi), a proof that it was known and even celebrated before the Christian period. From the lake we ascended gradually to the .-.highest point of the cape, by a very disagreea ble path, in which one foot generally trod upon sharp, rocky points, while the other sunk in - hog. The fartljer we went, however, the less inconvenient it became, and near the brink of -the precipice it was quite flat and dry. It was very curious when we reached this spot, to find that the wind, which had all along been very high, suddenly fell to a perfect calm, but the ^explanation offered by my companion seemed a very plausible way of accounting for the phe nomenon. The wind, sweeping across the ¦ocean, strikes on the perpendicular face of the Tock, and is broken and sent upward at a right angle, so that the current becomes vertical instead of horizontal. About five or six hun dred feet behind the face of the rock, the wind •again fell to its natural course along the sur face of the ground, and swept on as before, forming over the summit of the precipice a kind of arch, Under which, exposed as was the position, we enjoyed a perfect calm. The basalt, it is well known, is found in large, compact, irregular masses, the fractures of which, however, follow certain known laws, and some times assume a regular columnar structure. These columns are in general clustered thinly together, but occasionally, where atmospheric influences have had free operation, form distinct pillars standing almost out from the walls. From the completely irregular masses, to these there are many gradations of structure ; that of Fair Head itself resembles a conglomeration of the rirunks of gigantic gnarled oaks, of which here and there one stands out in high relief; and these are usually liable to fall, although there is one which has stood for centuries entirely apart. The columnar structure is not only dis tinguishable at the side, but even on the flat surface, where the fractures cross in lines like the meshes of a large, coarse, irregular net work. , On the summit of Fair Head we were exactly opposite Rue Point, the nearest part of the island of Rathlin, and about four miles distant. The eastern side of this promontory presents the same basaltic structure as Benmore, and it is probable that the island has been torn from the mainland by some violent convulsion of na ture. The long coast of the western wing of Rathlin was so plainly visible to us as we stood on Fair Head, that we could distinguish Church Bay, and the two districts of Ushet and Ken- ramer. A mountain was pointed out to us, as the site of Bruce Castle, and its high chalky cliffs and black cap of basalt were clearly dis cernible, so that I could hardly persuade myself that it was impossible to reach it, although the island was surrounded by a tremendous sUTf. My guides, informed me that there was almost always a tempestuous wind on Rathlin, so that no tree would grow in the rector's garden, and all over the island there were none larger than hushes. So soon as any tree grew above the level of the garden-wall, it began to sicken and die. From the summit of the Head we descended through a deep cleft, called the Gray Man's Path, to tbe shore. It resembles a rudely-cut gigantic staircase, and so violent a wind rushes up the gully, that, at the very first step, it seized my hat, mantle, books, and maps, and sent them whirling into the air. With a great deal of la bour and difficulty, I contrived to regain pos session of my effects, and stowed them away snugly in a hole behind a great basaltic column. One of these had fallen right across the entrance to the Gray Man's Path, and looked as if it were likely to fall still farther. The top of the cleft is not more than eight or ten feet wide, but it opens out farther down ; and as the col umns are broken off at different heights, and are flat at the top, it is possible to step from one to another in descending. They are not usual ly of one piece, but formed of several blocks, twelve or fourteen feet high, placed one above the other, which break asunder when the col umns fall. The height ofthe columns is usually about 250 feet, and their entire weight rests upon a bed of clay-slate, beneath which again lies a bed of coal, although it would seem that the heavy basalt, which is as hard as iron, ought properly to lie beneath, and the comparatively brittle coal and slate to occupy the upper place. It is, in fact, the fragile nature of this substratum that occasions many of the falls of the columns I have mentioned, as they often lose their foun dations from the brittle and destructible nature ofthe clay-slate ; but these falls are also caused by the water penetrating the fissures of the rocks, where, by freezing in the winter, it con tinually widens them. When this sort of action has continued for centuries, and the bed of clay- slate has become soft and broken, the columns lose their balance, and in some winter night, when all the elements are in uproar, break away IRELAND. ior with a report as loud as that of thunder, and ¦are dashed into a thousand fragments amid the raging breakers. Even the bed of clay-slate, on which the basalt rests, is four hundred feet above the sea, so that the moment when the column makes its salto mortale into the boiling depth beneath, must present a grand spectacle, though probably one never witnessed by mortal eye. These wild sports of nature are usually accompanied by so much danger, that they ban ish human spectators from their neighbourhood. Below, at the base of the promontory of Fair Head, one might suppose a party of Titans had been at play with the vast fragments of basaltic rock, of all sizes and shapes, that lie tumbled over one another in heaps in all directions, and had pelted one another with portions of Egyp tian pyramids, obelisks, Pompey's pillars, Ste phen's towers, and castle walls. Many blocks have fallen and rolled down far into the sea, and the surf dashes up high above them, into the clefts and crevices of the rocks. The great arch, which forms a sort of crown across the top of the columns at the summit of the prom ontory, has a grand effect, and resembles a gi gantic civic crown on the head of a Roman cit izen. From the shore, the Gray Man's Path shows only like a thin line, and the column lying across its top, which looks so threatening to any one descending through the cleft, is not to be distinguished from tbe rest. To reascend this path from the sea to the summit of the rock, took us about an hour, though the wind certainly helped to drive us up the gulley. We found our various chattels in the place where we had hidden them, behind the basalt pillar. I took my dinner at the farm ofthe Benmore shepherd. It consisted of whiskey, oatcake, and a sort of omelet made of four eggs fried in a pan. The hostess, like most Irish mothers, was surrounded by a mob of children, in which product even the most barren parts of the eme rald isle seem to be abundantly fruitful. With us in Germany, it sometimes happens that the fine and fertile districts are somewhat overpop- ulous ; but in Ireland the rocks and bogs are so swarming with human creatures, that one might fancy they were hatched, like the wild sea-fowl, in the chinks and crevices of the rocks. It is said that the catholic priests are chiefly to blame for this, as they urge the young people to the; very early marriages so common in this coun try, and which are a main source of income to the catholic clergy. On the side of the river opposite to Ballycas tle protestantism "begins again. " There they're all in the presbyterian way," said the fanner, "like the Highland people." Our principal con versation over our turf fire was, however, on the.subject common to palace and cottage all the world over — namely, that of the weather ; how fine it had been a few days ago, and what a " terrible break down" had come all on a sud den, and how it would probably mend before -long, &c., &c. In the afternoon I returned to tea to my Misses Mac Donnell, and was* met by eager questions. " Well, are you pleasedl" " Have you been disappointed 1" " What do you think of Ben- -snore?" To all these queries I was fortunately able to return most satisfactory replies; and the young ladies retired to bed well pleased with the amount of pleasure I had felt, and of admiration I was able to bestow on their beloved father land. THE GIANT'S CAUSEWAY. On the following day I prepared for my ex cursion to the Giant's Causeway. The wind was still howling along over the sea, and rush ing in violent gusts and eddies among the rocks, breaking against their perpendicular sides, and dashing up in wilder tumult probably, than ever did the waters ofthe ocean in their utmost fury. On the coast I remarked many of the " puffing- holes" I have already mentioned, from which the water was rushing as if from the nostrils of the whale. My equipage was again the little Irish car with one horse, and my imagination was filled with the things that I was going to see. The whole rockycoast of Antrim is cov ered with the ruins of ancient castles of the heroic period glorified in the Irish and Scotch ballads. Immediately beyond Ballycastle, on a lofty perpendicular rock rising out of the ocean, lie the ruins of two of them — -Duning and Ken- baan Castles, and on the left of the road those of a still mightier work of human hands, the round lower of Armoy. The rocks near Ballycastle are entirely of limestone, but when the basalt again makes its appearance it presents the most fantastic forms. One of the most interesting points is Carrick-a- Rede, which consists of two rocks formed of clusters of basaltic columns, each two hundred feet high, and several thousand feet in circum ference. The one is connected by a little isthmus with the mainland, but the other is pushed out far into the sea, and separated from the other by a deep chasm. A little island lying not far from it presented a pretty contrast with its bright: green grass to the black basalt. It is Called, like many others on the coast of both. Ireland and Scotland, Sheep island, as they are used for no other purpose than for feeding sheep. In summer this island is connected with the promontory by means of a hanging bridge made of three ropes. Some skilful climbers fasten two of them to iron rings which have been driven into the rock on each side., and then fas ten others across, like the rings of a ladder, and lay over them small boards. The third rope is then fastened in a little higher, to serve as a handrail. This little bridge, which is above sixty feet long, of course shakes with every step and swings to and fro in the wind, yet even the women with children in their arms never hesitate to cross it. In the autumn it is always taken down lest it should be blown away, and the ropes lost, and unfortunately this precaution ary measure had been adopted when I saw the island, so that I could not cross over to it. The sheep remain on it the whole winter, never fail ing to find fivid, and shelter. ng themselves from the storms in the caves and hollows. Many such bridges as I have described are to be met with on the coasts of Ireland and Scotland ; in deed it is th" usual m ide of establishing a com munication between two rocks, anil it is rather curious that this .system of suspension bridges should have been familiar to rude fishermen and 108 IRELAND. shepherds, in these remote corners of the em pire, hefore the principle attracted the attention of great thinkers and inventors, or wars applied to important undertakings. . The picture formed by the two rocks qf Car- rick-a-Rede, with the little island whose black basaltic foundation was visible from the shore beneath its verdant covering, and the wild break ers rushing towards it, and bursting into high dashing foam, was realiy beautiful. On the in! ner side of the island, which was turned to wards us, there was a little bay, enclosed by high rocks which sheltered it from every breafh of wind, so that it lay smooth and unruffled as a mirror, though close to the tumultuous tossing of the agitated ocean ; here in the summer is an important salmon fishery ; for as the salmon come UP in the spring from the open sea, to spawn in the bays and mouths of rivers, and al ways move along close to the shore, they get info the straight between the island and the mainland; and linger about this quiet little har bour. The fishermen take their measures ac cordingly, and on the shore of the bay a hut has been built for their accommodation. Through out the whole north of Ireland, the salmon fish ery is a very important branch of. trade, and from the most ancient times, salmon have been carried thence to the markets of Spain and even Italy. Going farther along the coast, we again came to a ruined castle, lying on a mass of rocks that projected far into the sea. It is the Castle of Dunseverick, said to have been built by an Irish king, Sobhairee, eight hundred years before the birth of Christ! These castles on island rocks, are quite a distinguishing characteristic of the north of Ireland ; but the largest and finest of all is that of Dunluce near the Giant's Cause way, Dunseverick is, however, said to be one of the three most ancient castles in all Ireland. and it is through the builder of this ancient pile that many of the old Milesian families trace their descent from Milesius. Our approach to the great natural marvel which was the immediate object of our excur sion, was made manifest by the number of per sons who came to offer their services, as guides. As in Ireland twelve men always offer them selves for any job that really requires only one, we were soon surrounded by a regular mob. some well-dressed, some in rags, but who all presented themselves, as the best possible cice roni for the Giant's Causeway. " Take me, your honour," screamed one, •' I went with Field Marshal Macdonald, when he visited his native country." "Take me, your honour," shouted another,' " I went with the Duke of Wellington and show ed him everything, and he was very well pleased with me." One had a certificate of merit from the Most Noble the Marquis of Anglesey, and his lady and daughter, another from Professor Buckland of Oxford. I chose the one whose physiognomy recommended him most, and ima gined that in proclaiming my choice I should de liver myself from the other candidates. Not at all. According to the unfortunate system of their country, they followed me the whole way step by step. I conjured them at first to refrain from their needless explanations, and leave me to the en- I joyment of this sublime work of Nature— F gave them money to get rid of them, I estreat ed them, I vented imprecations upon them. AH in vain. They pursued me as dogS' would a hare, and at length I yielded to my destiny and made no further resistance. One party collect ed stones for me, another pulled me by the right arm, another by the left, to show me this and that., I was the only visiter at this tem pestuous season, and the whole swarm of at tendants had fastened upon me. In summer when travellers are more numerous they divide their attentions, and the stranger has a better chance of peace. In the vicinity of the Giant's Causeway, be tween the high coast-land and the cultivated country, a fine new inn has been built ; here I left my vehicle and took some refeshment, ho- p'ng to get rid of my friends, but they watched lor me at the door, and gave chase as soon as I. appeared. The word causeway, as is weil known, signi fies a high paved road, thrown up like a dike, and at the first gl&nceof the Giant's Causeway, the apparent length of which does not exceed 700 feet, one might be tempted to think it rather adapted to the ambulatory powers of dwarfs. This, however, is only the beginning of the Causeway, which is continued beneath the waves of the sea ; and when one has looked with a little more attention at this world-re nowned wonder, one loses all inclination to de preciate its marvels, and in place of disappoint ment, the speotator abandons himself to the most enthusiastic admiration of the splendid, incomprehensible, mysterious natural phenome non. Before, however, I can expect my read ers to have any sympathy for my feelings, I must communicate to them as much informa- t on as I can give, concerning its structure. I have already said that the basalt exhibits itself at Benmore, in the form of a stratum of 250 feet thick, running into enormous massive pillars. At the Giant's Causeway, however, there is not one stratum, but many, and two especially remarkable, which run along the whole of this part of the coast, and are separa ted by a bed of ochre, which aiso reappears be neath the lower basalt, and is followed by clay- slate, coal, and other rocks. It appears as -if, at two separate periods of time, fluid basalt had been poured over the whole country, and that other substances had been deposited in the in terval. As the basalt comes to sight only on the sides of the precipitous shore, and then splits into long ranges of pillars, the word col onnade would well describe its appearance. The height of the lower range, or colonnade, was stated to me to be fifty-four feet, that ofthe upper sixty. The position ofthe pillars is most ly perpendicular, but not invariably so, and as the beds of ochre and other substances on which they rest vary in thickness, they sometimes sink down to the level of the sea, and sometimes rise high above it, but are finally lost to the eye, by running beneath the surface of the waters- first the lower, and then the upper colonnade, near the mouth of the river Bush. Before it reaches the edge of the water, the ochre disap pears, and the naked tops of the basaltic pillars are exposed. The colonnades are often broken by great IRELAND. 109 clefts or chasms, such as I have described above, which appear more recent than the formation of the colonnades. Sometimes there occurs a break, or what the English call a " fault," where the appearance is as if a whole enormous block had suddenly sunk down, so that the tops ofthe columns scarcely reach above the base of those they were before on a level with. Besides the two principal ranges which I, have described, there occur also others more irregular in their structure, which make their appearance between or from below them. In the ochre there occur stripes and beds, containing iron ore. In the basalt itself is found % stratum of , coal, and here and there occur thin strata of clay resem bling Puzzuolan earth. Nowhere can the geol ogist have a better opportunity of studying the structure of basaltic columns than at the Gi ant's Causeway, where there are the finest spe cimen's in the world. Most ofthe columns are hexagonal, as a soft round body compressed closely on all sides by others of the same form must necessarily be. A familiar instance of this occurs in the cell of the bee. Such a form, however, would only be assumed under the sup position that all the round shafts were of one equal diameter ; and as this has not been al ways the case, some are found which have three, four, five — up to eight or nine sides, the latter are very rare. The pillars of course do not stand apart, but are squeezed compactly to gether, so that a considerable force is required to separate them. The diameter of the greater number at the Causeway, is not more than a foot or a foot and a quarter, but these are the thinnest and most elegant that are ever found. There are, indeed, smaller basaltic crystalliza tions which have a diameter of only a few inch es. I myself picked up a number of triangular -and quadrangular prisms, but they are not so regularly and beautifully formed as the pillars of the Causeway. Not merely the structure of each individual Column, but also the composi tion of the whole is well worthy of study. A ;process of crystallization' going on in an inani- anated mass, would, it might be supposed, pro ceed without interruption, according to its most rigid laws. This has not; however, been the case, for though there are thousands and tens of thousands standing perpendicularly, there exist many varieties of position. I have alrea dy mentioned that some are found lying hori zontally. At Ushet, on the island of Rathlin, there are some that appear to have always ex isted in a slanting direction : near the promon tory of Doon Point many resemble the bent trunks of trees, as if they had not been firm enough to stand upright, and had bent over and cooled in that position, and others appear thrust endwise into the mountain, and have their ex tremities sticking out. In a part of the coast, •near the Giant's, Cause a ay, there are some which have assumed a waving form, yet they all lie perfectly parallel to each other, as if a giant hand had taken the entire mass, while it was soft, and had bent them over his knee. These variously-bent figures cannot be explain ed by the laws of crystallization, which only produce regular forms anil straight lines, so that we must necessarily suppose these peculiarities of structure to have been occasioned by circum stances jpccurring while the basalt was still soft. Other bodies must have fallen or been pressed down upon it, and changes are even now continually produced by the operation of similar causes. If we observe the columns singly, we find them to consist of a number of small blocks, placed one above another, like stones in a regu lar building, and, without any cement, so firmly united as to require an immense force to split them in the seams. In the description of Fair Head I have mentioned that the coarse massive pillars seen at that promontory are constructed of blocks eight or ten feet high ; but in the more elegant columns of the Giant's Causeway and its neighbourhood, they are not more than from six or eight inches to a foot thick or high, so that for a pillar of thirty feet there are perhaps forty of these small blocks. The thickness of some does not exceed three or four inches, but there are instances where it runs to two or three feet. One very remarkable circumstance concerning these joints is, that the seam, or break, does not go quite through ; but that at every corner there occurs a piece of basalt pass ing from one to the other, and clasping them together like a clincher or cramp-iron. These, which the people of the neighbourhood call "spurs," they maintain they must break off be fore they can separate the joints. On a close examination of these blocks when broken apart, we find indications of a structure originally spheroidal, and in some may be traced radial lines proceeding from the centre to the circum ference, like those which are sometimes found on the surface of a bullet flattened against a stone wall. According to all appearance, therefore, we might suppose the Giant's Causeway, and the neighbouring strata of pillars, to have originally consisted of an enormous mass of spherical bodies, which* being pressed upun from all sides, assumed the form of hexagonal prisms; but this supposition would by no means suffice to explain all the phenomena ; for if this had been the case, the external parts, or layers, must have been pressed flatter, and the interior blocks have retained more of a spherical form, which is not the fact. It is, however, unnecessary to assume that they all at one time actually had the globular form, though they may all have had the tendency towards it. In a freezing mass of oil there are formed innumerable little globules, which gradu ally become hardened into one congealed mass ; and thus, in the cooling mass of basalt, acted upon by powerful electric and magnetic forces, a spherical action may have taken place in the particles, which, pressing against each other as they increased, at length necessarily took the figure of horizontal prisms. My friend, Dr. Bryce, of Belfast, informed me that some pieces of basalt have heen found im bedded in the ochre. These had a perfectly sperical form, and the outer surface presented a kind of transition matter between ochre and basalt, as if they had been thrown in in a fluid state. With all the explanations that can be offered, however, so much is left unexplained, that they answer very little purpose. On a close investi gation of these wonderful formations, so many questions arise, that one scarcely ventures to 110 IRELAND. utter them. With inquiries of this nature per haps not the least gain is the knowledge of how much lies beyond the limits of our inquiries, and how things that lie so plainly before our eyes, which we can see and handle, may yet be wrap ped in unfathomable mystery. We see in the Giant's Causeway the most certain and obvious effects produced by the operation of active and powerful forces, which entirely escape our scru tiny. This remark may indeed apply, to a cer tain extent, to every one ofthe works of Nature ; but in this case her operations have been car ried on on so stupendous a scale, and all lies so clear before the eye, that one cannot avoid being more forcibly impressed. We walk over the heads of forty thousand columns (for this number has been counted by some curious and leisurely persons), all beautifully cut and polish ed, formed of such small neat pieces, so exactly fitted to each other, and so cleverly supported, that we might fancy we had before us the .work ef ingenious human artificers ; and yet what we behold is the result of the immutable laws of nature, acting without an apparent object, and by a process which must remain forever a mystery to our understanding. Even the sim plest inquiries it is often impossible to answer : such, for instance, as how far these colonnades run out beneath the sea, and how far back into the land, which throws over them a veil as im penetrable as that of ocean. A geologist might well wish, in his despair, to transform himself into a moie, in order to burrow his way to the solution of these interesting problems, or into a Ssh, to seek Jhem beneath the " watery floor" •f the Atlantic. The beauty, accuracy, and I might say care, with which the pillars of the Giant's Causeway have been wrought out by the mystic powers of nature, produce a powerful emotion, almost a sympathetic and tender admiration. I could not rest till I had handled what I saw before my eyes, and felt the smooth surface of the pillars ; and whenever, in the neighbouring parks and gardens, or elsewhere, I chanced to meet with some fragments of them, which are often car ried away, they seemed to draw me towards them with a mysterious' but irresistible force. So much then for the external form, position, combination, and texture of the basalt of the Giant's Causeway, resemblances to which do indeed occur in basaltic formations in different parts of the world, hut which are nowhere so fine and regular as these, nor on so magnificent a scale. As to the chemical composition of the mate rial, the pure basalt of the Causeway consists of fifty parts of siliceous earth, twenty-five of clay and calcareous earth, and twenty- five parts of iron. Iron and flint are, therefore, its princi- j pal component parts, and not only occasion its great specific gravity as well as closeness, the i beautiful polish of which it is capable, but also its great fusibility, and the rusty brownish tinge sometimes seen on its naturally black surface ; this may also account for the fact of all these colonnades and headlands being magnetic ; and as flint and iron have everywhere a tendency to regular forms and to crystallization, the figures mostly assumed by basalt can be accounted for. j The grain of the basalt is usually smooth, close, I and equal, but sometimes there occur in it chinks i and holes filled with various kinds of crystals p chalcedony and opal, natrolite, zeolite, and rock crystal. All these are offered in great anun- dance by the guides, who are constantly finding them, and the zeolites especially are some of the most beautiful specimens of fibrous crystal lization I have ever seen. The giant Fingal, the Hercules ofthe ancient Scotch and Irish, it was who, according to tra dition, built this Causeway. He was accustom ed, accoiding to the favourite legend, to walk along the causeway over from Ireland to Scot land ; but, in more recent times, the greater part of his work sank down and was covered by the sea. So much of t#l h probably lies at thfr bottom of this fahle, that the basaltic formation. on the opposite coast of Scotland, those of the Giant's Causeway, and ofthe island of Staffa in the Hebrides, are all probably of contemporane ous origin, and attributable to the same natural. causes ; and it is by np means unlikely that col onnades connecting these three points are con-. tinued beneath the ocean, which, as they say, is thus paved with basalt. The people have not heen content with as cribing these wonderful formations generally to. their favourite hero. Besides the Causeway, and Fingal's Cave in the island of Staffa, they have discovered all kinds of fancied resem blances ; and we have, besides the Giant's Gate way and the Giant's Chair, the Giant's Loom, the Giant's Theatre, the Giant's Organ, the Giant's Honeycomb, <&c. These whims have, at all events, the convenience of distinguishing, various points with a particular name. The Giant's Well is a little spring gushing out be tween the crevices of some pillars on the wes tern side of the Causeway, and running down. into the sea. Of the rest of the giant's utensils, the most remarkable, are the Honeycomb and; the Organ. The latter makes no part of the CauseWay, but is placed apart in the mountain, and consists of a number of large pillars declining on either side to shorter and shorter ones, like the strings of a harp ; and one might really ima gine a giant organist sitting playing at it, espe cially as the basaltic pillars, when struck, give forth a metallic ring. The Honeycomb is a cluster of pillars projecting from the middle of the colonnade. The great causeway runs out seven hundred feet into the sea before it is cov ered by the waves, except in stormy weather As the water was very rough when I visited it, I could not distinguish the entire length of the dike, except at momentary intervals. - In addition to the many existing memorials ofthe giant's housekeeping, his present succes sor. Lord Antrim, the giant of the present day, who is the owner of more of these gigantic mar vels than one could well count, has had a s«rt of saloon arranged, which the people call " My Lord's Parlour," and where benches have been constructed by breaking away rows of columns, , and leaving their stumps standing. At hunt ings, and on other occasions, Lord Antrim has given entertainments there ; but the grand fes tival, which is repeated every year, and whieh brings together a great concourse of people, and occasions much merriment, is a fair held here on the 13th of August. The booths stretch the whole way from the inn I have mentioned, to the coast, and even, in calm weather, out over IRELAND. Ill the tops of the pillars of the Causeway. This ga) and motley assemblage of an Irish fair must present a curious spectacle amid the solemn grandeur of this wonderful work of Nature. The guides on the causeway are always par ticularly anxious to point out all the columns distinguished for their height or the regularity of their figures, and some were shown as being perfectly mathematical squares, having all their sides and angles equal ; others as hexagonal, and equally accurate. The triangular one is unique, at the Giant's Causeway, and the octan gular one shown to me is surrounded by six exact hexagons, the predominant figure, for among every hundred pillars seventy are usually of this form. It was with the greatest reluctance that I at length tore ' myself from the contemplation of this most interesting phenomenon. I would fain have taken with me not only a specimen of eve ry kind of pillar, but also a perfect model ofthe whole construction, had it been possible to pro- eure one. If the philosopher has reason to ex claim " Ars longa vita brevis," the treveller has equal cause to consider the day too short tor the many beauties he has to survey. THE BAYS AND HEADLANDS. Scarcely less beautiful apd interesting than the causeway itself are the bays and headlands in its neighbourhood. Along the whole line of coast, from the mouth of the little river Bush to the promontory of Bengore Head, runs a chain of small, but deep, round, and elegant hays, each encircled by ranges of basaltic pillars, in the form of an amphitheatre ; with the variegated strata of ochre, sandstone, and clay-slate. The heads ofthe promontories, lofty and precipitous masses of basalt, have usually piles of fragments lying like ruins at their feet, and they form a range of magnificent capes, which, whether for variety or beauty, could scarcely find a parallel. Seen from the sea, these black headlands be come confounded into one dark mass, and the whole tract, four miles long, is known to sail ors by the name of Bengore Head. To the traveller on the shore, who can distinguish the various features of the coast, its appearance is far more striking. The first bay, lying on the western side of the causeway, is called Port Noffer Bay, an ap pellation probably compounded of a corruption of the English and Irish terms jumbled togeth er. From here one ascends by a path called the " Shepherd's Path," to the brow ofthe cliff, which for a great distance back into the coun try is perfectly smooth and level, and covered with grass. Over this beautiful turf one can walk round all the bays, and out even to the ex treme points of the headlands ; for, tremendous as from beneath appear the "rocks and chasms of this iron hound coast, nothing can be more quiet and harmless than their appearance from above, where one may walk to within a few paces of the brink of the precipice without dreaming of the evidence of terrible struggles and convul sions of nature presented -below. The sheep and geese Wander grazing to the utmost edges of the cliff My twenty ragged ciceroni scram bled like sheep up the path I have mentioned, screaming and clfatlering, and carrying, one my cloak, another my umbrella, another my tele scope, all which articles they had taken posses sion of against my will. The wind blew hard,, and their rags fluttered in all directions in a most picturesque manner, a'nd thus we gained the summit of the mountain. After Port Noffer Bay came the Giant's Am phitheatre, I hen Port Reostan, then Rnveran val ley, then Port na Spania, and every one of the capes or headlands separating them had its sep arate name. The temptation was quite irresist ible to run out upon every one of them, for the view was always varying, and always beautiful. The high surf dashing against the projecting points, the tranquil sheltered little bays, with tiny islands unbosomed within them, the wide prospect over the vast Atlantic, the long line of coast to Innishowen,Head, the narrow entrance to Lough Foyle in the distance — for all this I found my half-day quite insufficient. The bay called the Giant's Amphitheatre is certainly the- most beautiful amphitheatre in the world, that in Rome not excepted. The form of it is so exact a half-circle that no architect could have possibly made it more so, and the cliff slopes at preciselythe same angle all round to the centre. Round the upper part runs a row of columns eighty feet high: then comes a broad rounded projection, like an immense bench for the ac commodation of the giant guests of Fin Mac Cul ; then again a range of pillars sixty feet high, and then again a gigantic bench ; and so down to the bottom, where the water is en closed by a circle of black boulderstones, liko the limits of the arena. This is a scene in speaking of which no traveller need fear in dulging in terms of exaggeration, for all that be can say must remain far behind the truth. The wind was so unusually violent, and the smooth turf so damp and slippery, that I and my ragged company deemed it most advisable to lie down and creep to the edge of the preci pice. Here we lay holding fast by the grass, and looking down into the depth ; and even here, four hundred feet above the ocean's level, we were sprinkled by the spray ofthe foaming sea, which sometimes flew on the wings of the wind over our heads and far'into the country. I was amused at seeing that when I dragged myself / across a narrow projecting ledge of rock to look down into the western bay, my Paddies did ex actly the same thing ; and when I went to the other side and looked into the eastern one, they repeated this experiment also, and exhibited to the west a full view of their naked legs and torn breeches. They were always anxious to point out to me whatever they considered interest ing. " This bay, your honour," they screamed above the storm, "is called Port na Spania — that is, port of the Spaniards ; and those high black rocks there are called the chimney-tops. Both have their name from the Spaniards — that is, from the great Spanish armada. One of their biggest ships was driven out of its course, and against Bengore Head, by just such a wind as is blowing to-day. The Spaniards took the rocks for big chimneys, and bombarded them, and shot down a good many of them, that have been rolling backwards and forwards in the surf ever since, and it wasn't till the ship was a wreck, and they taken prisoners, that they found out how mistaken they'd been." 112 IRELAND. On the Scotch coast also, many spots are pointed out as the scene of destruction of the vessels belonging to the Spanish armada. The -admiral's ship, as is well known, was driven as far as the Shetland isles. After creeping round and viewing many other points, we came to Pleaskin, or, as the Irish call it, Plaisg cian, that is, the Dry Head, which is the finest of all the promontories, as the Gi ant's Amphitheatre is of the bays. Its form is grapd and imposing, and it is thrown boldly for ward into the sea, like the bastion of a mighty fortress. Its structure is much varied, present ing no less than twelve or thirteen different stratas, among which the often mentioned double colonnade is the most distinguished. Its colours are fresh and, lively; the bright green of the top, the deep black of the basaltv the red tinge of some of the strata which contain oxide of iron, the various colours of the ochre, afford a beautiful variety. Hamilton, whose work, though written fifty years ago, still remains the best source of in- -formation concerning the Giant's Causeway, and generally for the whole basaltic region of the north of Ireland, gives the following esti mate of the structure of Pleaskin : 1. Summit. Thin stratum of earth and vege table soil, and irregular masses of basalt, bro ken and splintered at the surface — 12 feet. 2. Perpendicular range of coarse basaltic col umns — 60 feet. 3. Stratum of rough unformed basalt, show ing only a slight tendency to assume a regular form — 60 feet. 4. Second range of regular pillars, elegantly formed and divided — 40 feet. 5. Stratum of red clayey ochre, serving as 'the basis of these pillars — 30 feet. 6. A thin layer of iron ore in ochre — 30 feet. 7. A clayey stone of various colours, resem bling soapstone — 30 feet. 8. A succession of five or six beds of basalt varying with thin strata of ochre and other sub stances — 180 feet. We give our readers this estimate in order to assist their imaginations in the description * we have been endeavouring to make of the coast. To Pleaskin succeeded Port na Trughen, that is, the " Bay of Sighs ;" and according to the accounts of some credible authorities, as well as of the people of the country, there are many clefts and chasms in the rocks surround ing it, capable of giving out sounds exactly re sembling the sighs and tones of complaint ofthe human voice. I had hoped myself to hear some of these lamentations of nature, but the roar of the north wind was too strong for sighs to be au dible. This at least was assigned to me as the cause of my disappointment ; and it was said that, even had the wind not been so violent, its direction was unfavourable. Another traveller, who was more fortunate, describes the tones in the follow nr manner : '• As I stood contem plating thp s enery ofthe bay, I suddenly heard a deep, long-drawn sigh, as I thought, close to me. The tone was precisely that of a human voice, yet I was convinced that I was entirely alone. I listened, with rather a palpitating heart, and the sound was repeated several times over, and at regular intervals ; and on closer investigation, I found it proceeded from a chasm of a rock on which I was standing. At a little distance I discovered another simi lar chasm, from which issued sighs and groans, as of a person in agony, so that it really became most painful to listen to. I visited Port na Trughen three times, and heard on every occa sion the same sounds, exactly as I have de scribed Ihcm." I, for my part, had to do all the sighing myself, that circumstances should not have allowed me to be a witness to so cu rious a phenomenon. The early departure of the October sun, which had hidden his face in gray clouds the whole day, now compelled me to finish my ex cursion, although there remained two most interesting points unvisited. I had not yet climbed the real Bengore Head, and I nad not examined the ruins of one ofthe most interest ing castles in the north of Ireland, Dunluce Castle, which lies about two miles westward of the Giant's Causeway. I sat down, very tired, on the brink of a cliff looking into the " Bay of Sighs," and looked dolefully across to the dark promontory, frowning in lonely gran deur above the angry surges. My guides in formed me — all twenty at once — that a pair of eagles had had their nest, time out of mind, on the top of Bengore ; and as the same thing had been told me at Fair Head, it would seem that they choose only the highest and most inacces sible points. My first sigh was for Bengore, my second for Dunluce Castle, to which I' had several times approached very near, but from which I was now separated by four miles of rough basalt road. My sighs were echoed by my whole twenty attendants, so that I had a lively idea ofthe sighs of Port na Trughpn. "Ah! your, homur, what a pity that you can't see Dunluce, and that you can't go there to-morrow; you'li be sorry for it all your life. There isn't a castle in the World that has a sit uation like it." The rock on which it stands, they went on to tell me, is a great cubic rocjc loosened from the coast, and lying in the mid dle of the sea, and washed all round by the waves ; the' top is perfectly flat, and the sides so steep and craggy, that even a swallow can hardly get up them. It is entirely covered with ruins to the extreme edge., Maiva's tower, Mac Quillan's tower, the great castle hall, its various courts — all can still be plainly distin guished. Some walls have fallen into the sea, and lie among the boulderstones in the surf. The rock is connected by a wooden bridge with' the mainland, where formerly stood some forti fications connected with the castle. The great er part is built with the black basaltic columns, as many buildings on this coast still are. The eldest son of the Earl of Antrim still takes a title from these ruins of Dun'uce Castle. It was built and inhabited bef ire the earliest rec ords, and was for more than a thousand years the seat, of several proud and independent races. The whole system of feudal oppression, rob bery, and violence, continued to a later period amonir these rocky fastnesses, and the opposite Highlands of Scotland, than in almost any other part of Europe. I scarcely believe that even in Germany we hail, at the time of Queen Eliza beth, such haughty Vassals as that Mac Donnell of Dunluce, to whom her gracious majesty sent IRELAND, 113 a magnificent parchment, containing the enu meration of all his titles and possessions, and confirming his right to them. Instead of falling at the feet of the sovereign, and humbly ac knowledging this mark of favour, Mac Donnell flew into a rage, chopped the parchment to pieces with his sword, and threw them into the fire of his great hall, declaring that what he had gained with his own good sword, he would not be indebted for to any sheepskin. The Mac Donnells who are at present in pos session of Dunluce, and of the best estates of the county of Antrim, belong to the often named Antrim family, and came over from Scotland in 1580. The then lords of Dunluce, and of the whole neighbouring country, were their relatives -the Mac Quillans, of a very ancient and renown ed Irish family. In Hamilton's book is a very interesting narrative from an old manuscript, of •the events which placed this rich inheritance in the hands of the Mac Donnells, and led to the ¦decay and present insignificance of the former kings ofthe sea coast, the Mac Quillans. Since the story throws a bright light on the ancient history of the coast country we have been de- cfibing, and may serve to give our readers an idea of the manner in which many of the old Irish families lost their estates, I will venture to give some particulars from the manuscript, the more willingly that it explains the beginning of the power of the two families, at the present day the most influential over the whole north of Ireland — namely, that of the Earl of Antrim (the Mac Donnells) and of the Marquis of Donegal (the Chichesters), whom we mentioned at Bel fast. The Irish chieftains, the Mac Quillans, were the original ancient owners of Dunluce, and of thesurtounding country called the " Rout," or " Root," as far as the river Baun. With their neighbours on the other side of the Bann, they were constantly at feud, and no less exposed, on the other hand, to the attacks and inroads of the Scots of the Isles, lying to the north-east. In the year 1580, it happened that there came over from Cantire, a certain Mac Donald or Mac Donnell (Hamilton gives the former ortho graphy, but the Antrim family adopt the latter) with a body of Highlanders, whom he was taking to tbe assistance of his friend the chief Tyrcon- •nell, at that time at war with the great O'Neal. As he marched through the land of the Mac Quillans, he was invited in a friendly manner by -the " Master of the Root," to go with all bis fol lowers to the Castle of Dunluce. Here they were most hospitably entertained, and the lord of the Castle was not the less kindly disposed towards his guests, for being at the moment en gaged, as he generally was, with his enemies on the other side of the Bann, who happened to be just then rather too strong for him. He had some hopes that Mac Donnell would assist him against them, and just as the Highlanders were about to take their departure, he called together his vassals and retainers, or, as they were call ed, " Gallogloghs," and informed them in the presence of his guests, that he was about to set out on an expedition to avenge an insult that had been offered to him by his neighbours. The knight Mac Donnell considering it in cumbent on him to offer his services to his friendly host on such an occasion, despatched -,i message to Mac Quillan to that effect. Mac H Quillan replied in terms expressive of admira tion of the valour and courtesy of his guest, that he would gladly avail himself of the offer ed help, and that he and his posterity would hold themselves forever indebted to the Mac Donnells. T^he two accordingly set off together on the " raid," and wherever a cow had been taken from one of his people, Mac Quillan took back two ; and having obtained ample satisfac tion, returned in triumph, and laden with booty, to the castle of Dunluce, where they gave them selves up to the enjoyment of all the pleasures it afforded. As the winter was now at hand, Mac Quillan, who like most Irishmen, was more kind-heart ed and hospitable, than discreet and prudent, invited Mac Donnell to remain during the bad season at the castle, and to give up the notion of joining Tyrconnell. Mac Donnell, who be gan to think he was passing a very pleasant sort of life at Durtluce, and had moreover cast an eye on the beautiful daughter of his host, did not require much pressing, and he and his retainers were soon distributed over the castle, and quartered among Mac Quillans subjects in the " Root." They led a jovial, jolly life of it all the winter, and Mac Donnell got so far into the good graces of the fair daughter of Mac Quillan, that, as scan dal reports, the secret marriage that took place between them was not celebrated before it was high time. Upon this marriage it was that the Mac Donnells afterwards rested their claim to Mac Quillan's territory. Whilst these love pas sages were going on within the sea-girt castle, the Highlanders and the Gallogloghs, who were quartered, two and two, among tbe tenants of Dunluce, were not on such friendly terms. And whereas, at the castle, the seed of discord had been sown by love, in the cottage it seemed likely to spring from that usual subject of disp ute, the commissariat department. According to an ancient custom, every Galloglogh was to receive a"meather" of milk over and above his usual ration. The " meather" was a wooden vessel made out of a single piece, of a trian gular form, in use in Ireland from the most an cient times. The Highlanders took it very'' much amiss that the Gallogloghs should have more than they, and at length one of them be gan to grumble at his portion, and inquired why he was not to have milk as well as the other. The Galloglogh, who sat imbibing the pleas ant fluid, answered, " Does a Highland beggar like you, mean to make himself equal to one of Mac Quillan's Gallogloghs?" Thereupon, of course, the Scotchman was not slow to re spond, and as the quarrel rose higher, the poor farmer, who was, doubtless, heartily tired, of them both, begged the gentlemen would be so good as to go and fight out their quarrel in the open air; adding, that whoever got the victory should have the milk, and any thing else the house afforded. The battle ended with the death of the Gal loglogh ; and thereupon, the manuscript relates, the Highlander came back into the hut, and re galed himself with his milk to his heart's con tent. The affair, of course, became talked of, and Mac Quillan's Gallogloghs demanded satis faction. This not being immediately granted, 114 IRELAND. they held a council among themselves, in which it was resolved that the Scots had obtained great and dangerous influence in the Root, that great disgrace had fallen on the whole clan, from the seduction of Mac Quillan's daughter, which was, it appeared, by no means a secret, and that, to avenge all these injuries, every Galloglogh should agree, on a, certain night, to murder his Scottish comrade ; the chief Mac Donnell, also to be included in, the massacre. The daughter of Mac Quillan, and wile of Mac Donnell, however, discovered the plot, and be trayed it to tier husband, and since it was sus pected that Mac Quillan, who by this time was heartily weary of his guests, was not an entire stranger to if, Mac Donnell and his people. thought it advisable to fly by night to the island of Rachery, or Rathlin, where for want of pro visions, they were obliged to subsist upon horseflesh. A war now began between the Mac Donnells and the. Mac Quillans, which contin ued during the whole reign of Queen Elizabeth, and which gave the territory of Dunluce. and the Root' alternately to one jur the other, ac cording to'the varying fortunes of the parties, until in the beginning of the reign of King James, the government interfered to put an end to U, and an appeal was made to the crown. This monarch had, as is well known, a great partiality for his Scottish countrymen, and he bestowed on Mac Donnell no less than four great baronies in Ireland, among which were included the lands of the unlucky Mac Quillan. As a slight compensation, there was allotted to the Utter the barony of Ennishowen, the anciept territory of the O'Doghertys, in Done gal. After this decision King James sent over a Sir John, Chichester to Mac Quillan to see it executed. The chief was, of course, very much dissatisfied with the decision, and espe cially troubled at the difficulties that arose in the transport of hispoor tenants and clansmen across Lough Foyle and the River Bann. The cunning Sir John seized the moment when the oiii chief was most perplexed! to suggest that there was an estate belonging to, his (Chiches ter's) family in the district of Clanreaghurbie, that lay much nearer to Dunluce than the barony of Ennishowen, and which he. was wil ling to exchange for if. The unsuspicious, and sorely " bothered" Map Quillan, agreed to the bargain, and settled with his people on the small estate, while the Chi- chesters took possession of the. great barony, which they still retain, along with other lapds and the title of Marquis of Donegal. Thus did the Mac Quillans fall from the splendid domain of Dunluce and the Root, to a little estate in the interior, but they had not yet reached the low est step of their descent, for a certain Bury Oge Mac Quillan, who loved to practise, Irish hospi tality on a more extensive scale than, his pre. sent scanty means wou|d permit, became em. barrassed, sold his land at a low price to the Chichesters, and spent the money merrily as long as a'ny of it remained ip his treasury. At the end of the last century, Mac Quillans were to be found at Clanreaghurbie among the hum blest of the people, and possessing no superio rity over the rest of the peasantry, than the title of King Mac Quillan, bestowed on them in mockery by their neighbours. I have seve ral times in Ireland encountered the descen dants of these feudal royalties, among labour ers, stable boys, and the. very lowest clashes qf society. RETURN AND CONCLUSION. While I was sitting with my troop of tatter-; demalions in the bay of Sighs, talking of the, former glories of Dunluce, it had become com pletely dark, so that I had some difficulty in finding my way back to my car in which .I.vtras' to return to Ballycastle, I arrived there late in the evening, and found that the Misses, Mac Dohnells had also sunk, if not into the lowest classes of society, at least into the pillows of their soft couch. On the following morning, I had indeed, as I had hoped, a change of .weath er, but not really such a change as I desired.; The storm, which on', the preceding night had- been a dry One, come now with its wings laden. with snoW, and had completely covered the mountains, . by the time I began,, my return; journey to Belfast- It had been my first inten, tion to return byCplerainq and Antrim, but; a?, I thought it unlikely I should meet, with any thing in the interior to equal in interest, the magnificent coast of Antrim, I. resolved tp go, back the way I came. The effect of the snow on the. landscape, varied with almost, every field, and.seemepy scarcely the same in any two spots. On the! stubble fields it had melted less than on the grass meadows, on the bogs more than on the, heaths, and the figures of several tracts, w^Sj precisely recognisable by, this difference. I believe that in flakes of snow taken from diffe^ rent spots, one might obtain a very, (Jeljcatel thermometer, for the variations, of, temperature in living and decaying plants. ' It is usually stated that the snow never; ljes), on, this coast, when, a few miles inland, thfti hills are covered with it to a great, depth.. Hown! this may. be I know not, but at all events I can hear witness that, on this wild coast, snow falls as early as in the beginning of October. NeVc'-. ertheless, af many of the farmhouses we passed^ quantities of, roses, in full bloom were! gioj^irig,, ;from beneath the snow, and the myrtles qf,,' Glenarm, which I. now.again visited, and which, • are the largest and most splendid.ip all, Ireland, testified, that. for. them, at least!, the w^pter'h'ad no terrors, I was tcild that one of the garden ers from the Royal Gardens of Kew, lateljff made a pilgrimage, to the north of Ireland pur posely to. visit them, and to exapiine closely a|L the circumstances connected, with their, pqsitfom Amongst, other curiosities exhibited tp,rae,£ at the castle of Glenarm, is a model of the Giant's^ Causeway, anda very large piece of Iris^rqqji, crystal, from one of the basaltic cavern?. It was nearly, five inches long, and is said to bq one of the largest ever found; T learnt f|ere also that the northern Irish always qajl, t]he basalt " whinatone," whin, signifying t|je fprze, or gorse, so common in Ireland, and which grows, abundantly amopg the. basalt. T^q fajr lady who gave roe this, information, also, told. me that what in England is. called, a, family. name, here is usually called arnpng thecomnion people, the " elans-name," and that if I w^sh'qd to have, a, clear, idea of. whaj., is. meant bj| it, I should renjqjnber; the. w,ay in whjph the phrase IRELAND. 115 " Children of Israel" is used, inthe bible ; that being translated by the Scotch and Irish as "Clan Israel." Many expressions in use, in this part of the country, even among the purely Irish, have reference to those of England and North Bri tain ; as for instance, the word "moss" instead of bog. When at Glenarm I complained that the supply of turf for my. fire was so scanty, the exquse was that "the moss was at such a distance." This is a complaint often heard in Ireland, and on the other hand the near neigh bourhood ofthe moss or bog, is always a sub ject of rejoicing. In all sales of lands and lettings of farms, this circumstance is always taken into consideration, and materially modi fies, the condition of the bargain. The recent violent gales had thrown up at Glenarm and at several other places along the coast, a great quantity of sea- weed ; and as soon as the wind had a little abated, half the population was assembled on the shore, and employed in collecting and carrying it away in cars. ,-» All tbe wet masses of basaltic and limestone rock, which roll about on the coast, were cover ed with a crowd of men, women, and children, busied in getting in this singular harvest, and carrying away in their arms heaps ofthe long trailing slimy plants, which the Irish turn to account in many ways. In the first place they eat considerable quantities ; several of my troop of attendants to the Gjant's Causeway amused themselves as they went along, by picking up and munching sea-weed fresh from the turf, In Ballycastle I saw people eat, it upon bread and butter, as one might; eat wafer-cresses. In Belfast it. is regularly brought to market as a vegetable, as peas and beans are with us. Some times, the sea-weed is salted and pickled, and then has much the appearance of the plumb jam so much used in Germany. Besides these u^qs, I haye alreadymentioned that great quan tities of iti are made into kelp, and what is not employed for any of thqse purposes serves for manure, although it is. far' more valuable for this op the sandy shores of the Baltic, than in the damp marshy lands of Irqland, where sea- sand and shells are more wanted. \ Of the latter article whole mountains are collected near Lough Foyle. All the coasts of Ireland are rich in various kinds of sea-weed, so, that it seems the abun dant vegetation of the Emerald Isle is con tinued eyen under the sea; The coast of An trim is the richest of all, as these plants prefer the limestone and basaltic rock to the granite. Among the sorts of sea-weed considered edible by the Irish the most approved are the follow ing: First, the Rhodominia palmata ; then the Lammar'ia saccharina, and lastly, the Chondrus crispus. The latter kinds are dried in the sup, called Irish moss, and used as a substitute for the Iceland moss. The first-named is sold at Belfast, and oo the sea-coast, for a penny a pound ; whilst in thq interior it, costs three or four times as much. I heard a, great deal about the fine flavour of somq sorts, andthe inferiority qf Others; but it certainly appearsto me, that to one unaccustomed to these delicacies all are equally nauseous. The people, in some of the cohst districts, however, both of. S.qptl^nd and Ireland, are so partial to the taste, that, they carry it about with them and chew it like to bacco. One kind of sea-,weed, much liked for manure, is the Laminaria digitaia, called "sea-wrack," which is considered so serviceable, especially for potatoes, that it is a saying in Antrim, that a sack of sea-wrack will make a sack of pota toes, although, in general, it is rather the quality than the quantity of this useful root that is im proved by it, After every storm on this coast the people come down in crowds from the mountains "to gather the sea-wrack for, their potatoes, and in calm weather they, run out far into the sqa, and cut it- under the water with. sickles. Sometimes they take the little moun tain horses in with them, but when the shore is too rocky for this, they iade their own, human backs with the salt-dripping manure. Few people have ever noticed the beautiful and elegant formation of these marine produc tions, which are scarcely inferior to those of many plants of our gardens, although, as they only display their full magnificence beneath the water, it would not be easy to observe them without a diving-bell. When taken out covered. with slime, they have a very deplorable appear ance, and then can only be restored to anything like their natural beauty, by an artificial process. While other plants lose much by being dried and preserved in herbaria, these on the con trary, are improved by the preparation, Dr.. Drummond, of Belfast, has written a learned treatise on the manner of drying these plants, of which, he has a beautiful and almost perfect collection. It is rather surprising that, consider ing the far greater difficulty of procuring these than land plants, and the consequently far greater utility of collecting them, such a one is not >fbund in every museum- An herbarium of marine plants might show them as beautiful as. in their natural state, apd would contribute greatly to the renown of their collector. As the mild climate of Ireland certainly dis poses one not a little to whiskey-drinking, I took a glass at Glenarm to which I was, the more easily induced, that I was informed by my carman this was the last good drop of whis key I should get op the coast. The Larne whiskey, he said, " was good for nothing," and that Carrickfergus whiskey was "worse than. that." As I sat in the car, although one side of me was exposed to all the fury of the wind and snow, the othqr was extremely comfortable. I had even managed to make a hole for the re ception of my elbow, so that I did my best to- transfer my whole power of sensation into thi? snug corner, and to let the rest of my limbs freeze and shiver as they would. Most people say that if any one part is cold it is impossible to enjoy the warmth of the rest; but I am of opinion — and the theory is a far more desirable one to adopt, that one may just as reasonably disregard the hardships of the greater part of the body if the comfort of one limb be properly provided for. I consoled myself with thistheory as far as Belfast, where I arrived with every article of clothing, and every single paper I had with me soaked through and through. Here I took my leave of Erin, and shipped, myself for Caledonia. M Books that vou may carry to the fire, and hold readily in your hand. ARE THE MOST USEFUL AFTER ALL. A MAN WILL OFTEN LOOK AT THEM, AND OB TEMPTED TO GO ON, WHEN HE WOULD HAVE BEEN FRIGHTENED AT BOOKS OF A LAB. «Wt SIZE, AND OF A MORE ERUDITE APPEARANCE." Dr. JollHSOn. '$» F A M I L Y LIBRARY, Now comprising i^, vols^' ^8mo^abu'hdantIy illustrated gravings. Pricivne^ly anu»n.riilD^rty bound in muslin separately. V <*¦>. Nos- 1, 3, 3. — Milman's History of *h£.i Slff-^bM&bmbie'a Philosophy of the , Jews 4, 5. — Luekh art's Life of Napoleon Bo naparte. 6. — Sou they 's Life of Nelson, 7. — William's Life of Alexander the Great. fl, 74.— Natural History of Insects. 9.— Gait's Life of Byron. 10. — Bush's Life of Mohammed. —Scott's Letters on Demunology and "Witchcraft. .i2,13;— Gleig's History of tha Bible. .14. — Discovery and Adventure in the Polar Seas and Regions. By Les lie, Jameson, and Murray. 15. — Croly's Life of George IV. 16. — Discovery and Adventure in Afri ca. By Jameson, Wilson, and Mur ray. 47, 18, 19, 66, and 67.— Cunningham's Painters and Sculptors. SO. — James's History of Chivalry and the Crusades. 21, 22.^-Bell's Life of Mary Queen of Scots. 23.— Russell's Egypt. 24.— Fletcher's History of Poland. "25,.— Festivals, Games, and Amuse ments. By Horace Smith. 26. — Brewster's Life of Sir Isaac New ton. '27. — Russell's History of Palestine. 28. — Memes's Memoirs of the Empress Josephine. 29.— The Court and Camp of Bona parte. 30. — Lives and Voyages of Drake, Cavendish, and Dumpier. -31. — Barrow's Description of Pitcairn's Island, and Account ofthe Mutiny of the Ship Bounty. 39, 72, 84.— Turner's Sacred History ofthe World. 33, 34. — Mrs. Jameson's Memoirs of Female Sovereigns. fS5, 36.— The Landers' Travels it Afri ca, and Discovery of the Source and Termination ui the Niger. "37.— Abercrombie on the Intellectual Powers. 38, 39, 40.— St. John's Lives of Cele brated Travellers. 41, 42.— Lord Dover's Life of Frederic the Great. 43, 44.— Smedley's Sketches from Ve netian History. 45, 46.— Thatcher's Lives of the In dians. •47, 48, 49. — Account of British India. By Murray, Wilson, Greville, Ains- lio, Rhmd, Jameson, Wallace, and Dairy inple. -50. — Brewster's Letters on Natural Magic, "51, 52.— Taylor's History of Ireland. '53.— Discovery on the mure Northern Coasts of America. By P. F. Tyt- ler. .54.— Humboldt's Travels. By Mac- githvray. 55, 56.— Euler's Letters on Natural Philosophy. Edited by Brewster and Griscoin. 57. — Mudie's Popular Guide to the Observation of Nature •*^iS«B#Teeliiigs, 59, — Dick on the Improvement of So ciety by the Diffusion of Knowledge. 60. — James's History of Charlemagne. 61. — Russell's History of Nubia and Abyssinia. 62, 63.— Russell's Life of Oliver Crom well. 64.— Montgomery's Lectures on Poetry," Literature, sical Condition of the Earth and its most remarkable Phenomena By Higgius. 79.— History of Italy: translated b) Greene. B0, 81.— The Chinese. By Davis. 82.— History ofthe Circumnavigation . of the Globe. 83.— Dick's Celestial Scenery. 84.— Turner's Sacred History of the World, Vol. HI. 85. — Griscom's Animal Mechanism and Physiology. 86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91.— Tytler's Uni versal History: continued by Dr. Nares. 92, 93.— Life of Franklin, by Himself; and a Selection from his Writings. 94, 95;— Pursuit of Knowledge under Difficulties— its Pleasures aud Re wards. 96, 97. — Paley's Natural Theology: edited by Brougham, Bell, and Pot ter. 98.— Natural. History of Birds. 99. — Dick's Sidereal Heavens. ICO.— U phani on Imperfect' and Disor dered Mental Action. 101, 102.— Murray's History of British America. 103.— Lossing's History of the Fine Artw. 104.— Natural History of Quadrupeds. 105. — Life aud Travels of Minion Park. 106. — DaiuVs Two Years befqre the Must. 107, K18. — Parry's Four Voyages for the Discovery of a Northwest Pas sage. 109, 11(1. — Life of Doctor Johnson; with a Selection from his Works. 111. — Iti'vi ni's Selection from Amer ican Poets. 1 12, 113. I la! leek's Selection from i British Pimts. 114, 1)5, 110, 117, U8.-Keightley's History of England. 119, 120.'— Hale's History of the United States. by Maps, Portraits, and En- gilt, $75 70. Each work sdld 121, 122.— Irving's Life of Goldsmith, and Selection from his Writings. 123, 124.— Distinguished Men of Mod ern Times. 125.— Renwick's Life of De Witt Clia- ton. 126, 127. — Mackenzie's Life of Commo dore Perry. 128. — Life and Travels of Bruce : by Sir Francis B. Head. 129. Renwick's Lives of John Jay and Alexander Hamilton. 130.— Brewster's Lives of Galileo, Ty- cho Untlii.-, and Kepler. 131. — History of Iceland, Greenland, and the Faroe Islands. 132.— Manners and Customs of the Jap anese. 133.— Dwight's History of Connecti cut. 134, 135.— Ruins of Ancient Cities : by Charles Bucke. 136, 137.— History of Denmark, Nor* way, and Sweden : by Crichton and Wheatou. 138. — Camp on Democracy. 139. — Lanman's Michigan. V 140.— Feuelon's Lives of tho Ancient Philosophers. 141, 142.— Count Segur's "History ol Napoleon's Expedition to Russia. 143, 144. — History of Philosophy translated, continued, and edited by Rev. Dr. Henry. 145. — Bucke's Beauties, Harmonies. and Sublimities of Nature. 146. — Lieber's Essays on Property and Labour, as connected with Natural Law and the Constitution of Society 147.— White's Natural History of Sel- borae. KS. — Wrangell's Expedition to Siberia i id the Polar Sea. 149 150.— Popular Technology; or, Piofessions and Trades. By Hazen. 151, 152, 153.— Italy and the Italian Islands. By Spalding. 154, 155.— Lewis and Clarke's Travel* West of the Mississippi. .?, 156.— Smith's History of Education. 167. — Mesopotamia and Assyria. Bf Fraser. 158.— Russell's History of Polynesia -, or, the South Sea Islands. 159. — Perilous Adventures; or, Re markable Instances of Courage, Per severance, and Suffering. 160. — Constitutional Jurisprudence of the United States. By Dr. Duer. 161, 162, 163. — Belknap's American Biography ; edited, with Notes, by F. M. Hubbard. 164.— Natural History of the Elephant' 165.— Potter's Hand-book for Reader* and Students. 166.— Woman in America: her Moral and Intellectual Condition. 167. 168.— Border Wars ofthe Revr lo tion ; embracing the Life of Brant. By W. L. Stone. 169.— Vegetable Substances used for Fond. 170. — Mirhelet's Elements of Modem History : edited by Rev. Dr. Potter. 171. — Bacon's Essays, and Locke oa the Understanding'. THIRTY YEARS PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS IN ENGLAND AND AMERICA: INTERSPERSED WITH ANECDOTES AND REMINISCENCES OF A VARIETY OF PERSONS, DIRECTLY OR INDIRECTLY CONNECTED WITH THE DRAMA DURING THE THEATRICAL LIFE OF JOE COWELL, COMEDIAN. WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. IN TWO PARTS. PART I.-ENGLAND. " No author who understands the boundaries of decorum and good breeding, would presume to think all : the truest respect which you can pay to the reader's understanding is to halve this matter amicably, and leave him something to imagine in his tum, as well as yourself." — Sterne. NEW-YORK: HARPER & BROTHERS, 82 CLIFF-STREET, 1845. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1843, By Harper & Bbothzes, In the Clerk's Office ofthe Southern District of New-York. ADVERTISEMENT TO THE WICKED READER. Ik addressing for the first time a per son — or body corporate or incorporate — some embarrassment often ajraes as to " the eftest way" of commencirrf your re quest or apology ; but as I intend making neither the one nor the other, I feel no hesitation in adopting the above, as being most likely to suit the character of the class of persons into whose hands this work may fall. I have " turned over niany books," and have found " Gentle Reader," and " Kind Reader," and all sorts of ami able " Readers" by dozens, but the " Wick ed Reader" I think I have got all to my self. And if we only take notice of all that occurs to us every day in the week, and believe half what is said to us every Sunday, this book will certainly be perused by a very large majority who fully de serve the title I have selected for them. Depending solely on memory for mate rial, the incidents in the following pages are told without any strict regard to chron ological order, but as they naturally con nected themselves by "relative sugges tion," as far as possible, with the im pressions they made at the time. In fact, encumbering a book of this kind with dates, and heights, and distances, is like throwing a man overboard, to swim for his life, buttoned up in buckskin breeches and boots, when, by " going it with a perfect looseness" he might have a small chance to escape. The way I came to undertake this task at all was simply this. In the winter of 1841, my esteemed friend F. W. Thomas, Esq., the successful novelist, requested me to give him some anecdotical sketches of my life, to be prepared by his practical pen, as matter for a periodical he was then providing with suchlike insufficient food ; and I wrote for that purpose the beginning of this very book. Faults are beauties to the eye of friendship; he de clined accepting it, deeming it of higher value ; and so strongly urged me to pro ceed with my recollections, that, having the luxury of leisure during the following summer, I wrote at random the first vol ume. But since then till now, having had to get my living by putting the non sense of others into my head, I have had no time to spare to put my own upon pa per. This long wait between the acts will, therefore, account for my speaking of my old friend Barnes and others as if they were still alive, when they have been foolish enough to die in the interim. In the second volume, as I wrote care lessly along, I found I was recollecting too much, and was therefore compelled to take shelter in an abruptness which I had not at first contemplated. A smile of ap probation from my old associates is the chief reward I look for from this, truth-tell ing gossip ; but if I told the whole truth, it might cause a laugh on the wrong side of the mouth. And even you, wicked reader, wouldn't wish me, though in joke, to wound the feelings of a class of persons the cant ing world has for ages made most sensi tive to wrong, because it has never done them right. And now, to borrow the extemporaneous language of the members of my profession, when " respectfully" informing an audience that some villanous tyro will be substitu ted instead of the sterling performer they have walked a mile and paid their dollar to see, Most Wicked Reader, " / rely on your usual indulgence." Joe Co well. Baltimore, August 1, 1843. THIRTY YEARS PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS, CHAPTER I. " Bat -what's his name, and where's hisMtame, I dinna choose to tell." — Coming through the Rye. "Bat whence his name And lineage long, it suits me not to say." Childe Harold. On the seventh day of August, Anno Domini one thousand seven hundred and ninety-two, I came " into this breathing -world." CHAPTER II. " 1 have neither the scholar's melancholy, whioh is emula tion ; nor the musician's, which is fantastical ; nor the cour- tier's, which is proud ; nor the soldier's, which is ambitious ; nor the lawyer's.which is 'politic ; nor the lady's, which is nice ; nor the lover's, which is all these ; but it is a melan choly of my own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects : and, indeed, the sundry contemplation of my travels, m which my often rumination wraps me, is a most humorous sadness." — Shakspeake. The only spot on earth to which my memory turns with that peculiar feeling which they alone can appreciate who can remember the cot where they were born, is the little village of Tor-CUiay, in Devonshire. But it was not where I was born : all I can recollect of the place of my na tivity is, a very large, dark-looking room, and a very large, black-looking chimneypiece. Chil dren always imagine every object much larger than it really is, and generally much brighter : it appears I was aa exception to the latter sup position. I remember no little window Nor " Where the sun came peeping in at morn ;" 1 Fir-trees close against the sky," as Hood says so prettily ; nothing but the large, dark room, and large, black eMmneypiece: per haps a sad prognostic of my future fortunes. The local inhabitants of this insignificant lit tle village — it was so then, and I suppose is so now— were fishermen, pilots, and boatbuilders'; a simple, industrious, kind-hearted people. How often haveahe little shoeless urchins slyly thrust me a slice of their dark-brown bread through the trellis- work of the flower-garden, in front of the house ; and many a weather-beaten handful of forbidden fruit has been dropped into the ready pin-a'-fore of " Master Joe," and devoured with ecstasy in the most private place on the premises. The county of Devon is called, and justly so, the garden of England. Climate gives charac ter to all animals, and in that calm, yet genial spot, where, in the open air; the simple jessamine twines its perfumed tendrils amid the dazzling beauties of the passion-flower, the blood so smoothly flows to work its task of life, that man's nature partakes of the serenitude of the atmosphere, and all is health, and peace, and calm content. At the period to which I allude (I shall pur posely avoid all useless dates) Tor-Bay was the chosen rendezvous of the Channel fleet. The satirical couplet of " Lord Howe he went out, And, lord', how he came in," would have been equally applicable to the fleet then under the command of Earl St. Vincent, but that the Saint precluded the pun. Adverse winds, in that most adverse Channel, and the nothing-to-do-duty this then terror of the ocean had to perform, made even mooring and un mooring a precautionary employment, for thou sands of men to be kept in subordination literal ly by one : all old man-o'-wars men know it is safe policy never to let Jack have time to think of anything but his duty. Frequently the fleet would be in harbour two and three weeks at a time, diverting the people with cleaning, paint ing, polishing, and punishing; then to sea for a like period, and into port again. The beauty of the climate, the facilities for sea-bathing, and the joy which every sailor feels at being surrounded by "wife, children, and friends, induced many of the superior officers to hire the better sort of houses which could be procured, or build slight compact ones for the accommodation of their families. In a large fleet, carpenters, masons, mechanics of all sorts, and labourers by hundreds, are readily obtained ; houses were built, furnished, and occupied as if by magic, and the country, for miles around, be ing thickly studded with the rural residences of the nobility and gentry, Tor-Gluay, at that time, became suddenly the most exclusively fashion able watering-place in the kingdom. In a small, neat house, fitted up in elegant simplicity, situated on a gentle ascent from the beach, and overlooking the whole harbour, lived my protectress — my more than mother. Here, loving and beloved, I passed three innocently happy years. The arrival of the fleet was the signal for joy and festivity ; sailing-matches, boat-clubs, pony faces, banquets, balls, and concerts occupied a portion of eaeh day and evening. In compli ment to Earl St. Vincent, on his birthday a more than usually splendid festival was given at Carey Sands, a country seat a few miles dis tant from our house, and " the children," indul ged in everything (which health and morals would permit), were allowed to see the com- 8 THIRTY YEARS mencement of a masked ball, walk through the rooms, and return early home. Here I first saw Lord Nelson, a mean-looking little man, but very kind and agreeable to children ; he prophe sied a very different fate for me from what it has been, and some trifling anecdotes o'f himself, which he probably invented to. please a boy, made so strong an impression on my mind as greatly to influence my conduct while in the navy. A spacious hall, fitted up as a theatre, attract- seA our particlar notice. As I afterward learned, accompany of players, from the adjacent town of Totness, were engaged to give two or three exhibitions, the festival lasting a week. The fireworks, ox-roastings, balls, and concerts were all described and explained to us, and all per fectly understood, excepting the play, and that was incomprehensible. To satisfy our tortured curiosity, this angel woman (her name is too sacred to be put on record with the adventures of a poor player) actually engaged a portion of the company to give an entertainment at our house to please the children. Shrink not, ye props and ornaments of the profession, when I tell you you have often, perhaps without thinking it, been placed in the same position. How frequently have I heard a fond parent say, " If you are good children, I'll take you to see Kean, or For rest, or Macready." For my own part, many a time has some fat-headed patron of the drama said, " Cowell, my boy, I'm going to take my little girls to see your Crack to night, so do your best." The day, big with fate, at length arrived, and "the best actors in the world" — I think four in number. One didn't speak, but merely rung a little bell, and snuffed the candles, and when he put one out we all laughed, and he made a very formal bow ; he was a comical-looking creature, dressed in large, white Turkish trousers and a footman's jacket. Preparations immediately commenced; the dining parlour was speedily unfurnished, and the adjoining room " thrown into one," that is, as far as wide-opening a com mon-sized door could make two rooms into one. Chairs, sofas, and ottomans were placed in rows, and elevated, in the back apartment, where the servants and humble neighbours were to be accommodated, to peep through the open door over our heads. All the flat candlesticks in the house were put in a lin e, in front ofthe seats intend ed for the family, and separated from them by a long board nailed on edge. How well do I re member with what wonder and admiration I looked on at the adroit manner in which signal Jacks, ensigns, and blue-peters, window and bed curtains, were furled, puckered, tacked, and tied, by a slim, long-nosed young gentleman, in shirt sleeves, knee-breeches, and blue worsted stock ings, to form the wings and drops of this mimic stage! At length all was completed — the per formance was to commence " at early candle light :" never do I recollect so long an afternoon as that was but once since, and that was, five hours passed in a sponging-house waiting for bail. At length the day drew in, " and night, the lover's friend," advanced; the bell was rung, ani the seats in the rear immediately occupied, according to the age and grade of the party. We were placed in front, the governess at our backs, ready to explain any doubtful point, and direct our deportment: our general instructions were, to clap our hands when she did, and not to laugh; this latter command I made up my mind to disobey ; and I did. To her supposed superior judgment in juvenile matters had been leu the control of the entertainment, and she had selected " Hamlet" (only a portion of the trage dy, I suppose), but whether to suit her own taste, or her pupils, I can only imagine. She was a romantic little body. She hated me with all her heart, but was too prudent to say so ; and I hated her with all my soul, and said so to everybody. She had a very pretty, ill-natured looking face, and small neat figure, in despite of one very crooked leg ; this fact I discovered in consequence of her tumbling, head foremost, over a stile one slippery day ; and for laughing most heartily— who could help it ?— I was locked up in a cupboard, at the door of which I kicked so lustily for half an hour, they were obliged to. let me out, " I made such a noise!"* I forget if there was any overture, or an apol ogy for one in any way ; but music, from my infancy, being as familiar as a household god, it was'not likely to live in my memory, I sup pose they began the play where Horatio informs Hamlet of his "last night of all" adventure, for I recollect nothing preceding that dialogue, which I was astonished to find I had often read in that excellent book for children, " Enfield's Speaker."' I love that book still ; it gave me the first relish for more substantial food, and if I can sell this, I'll buy a copy lor my grandson. Presently the Ghost glided in from behind a French flag— there was one on each side ofthe room, with the Eng lish ensign over it — enveloped in a white sheet, something white on his head, his face white washed, and a white truncheon in his hand. All was breathless attention ; but, before he had time to reply to Hamlet's earnest inquiries, I shouted out, with all my might, " That's the man who nailed up the flags !" For, in defiance of his white-all-over-ness, I recognised in the Ghost my friend in the knee-breeches, for whom I had held the hammer, and helped so nicely (as he said) in the morning. The governess g;ave me one of her withering looks, but jail the rest of the- audience laughed most heartily'; so did Hamlet, so did the Ghost, till hisvwhi{g«sheet shook again. Hamlet—'.' methinks tsee liin now" — was a slim, round-facefL good-looking young man, and, I imagine, rather effeminate in his manner; for all agreed he was very like our very pretty house maid Sally. He was dressed in a suit of mod ern black, a frill about his neck, with a silver cord and tassel, his head powdered (the fashion of the time) ; a spangledjred cloak ; the order of the garter around his leg; a if road-brimmed, black velvet hat, turned up in front, and a large diamond shoe-buckle, supposed to enclasp one tall, white feather. But Horatio had five (we all counted them) ; his waistcoat, too, was near ly covered with gold, and his cloak was spangled. all over ; he wore light blue pantaloons, and red shoes — I/orget the .colour of his hat. He was decidedly my favourite, and I believe the favour ite of all; at any rate, the children and servants thought as I did, that he was worth all the rest of them put togetheh't besides, " in the course of the evening," he sung a fine loud song, about ships and the navy, and danced a sailor's hornpipe; but whether they were introduced in the tragedy or after it, I know not. He appeared to have twice as much to say as Hamlet had, and what he did say he said three *imes as loud; all thej^ * I cannot but regret these'deliglrtful visions of my child hood, which, like the fine* colours we see when our eyes. are shut, are vanished forever.T-ALEXANDEB, Pops. PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. auditors in the next room could hear every word he uttered ; and, as more than half could not see him through the open door, it was quite enough to make him a great favourite in their estima tion. The coachman said he heard one speech while he was feeding the horses; and the stable was at least one hundred yards from the house; no doubt the same speech which frightened two of the youngest children. They cried, and, at their own request, were sent to bed. Hamlet made several long soliloquies, and as he looked me straight in the face, I thought he addressed me in particular ; so when he inquired, " Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer * The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles — " I replied, " If I were you I'd go to sea." This called forth a most joyous shout from the next room, for even then I was the low-comedian of the household ; but mjf female Mentor said I was a very bad boy (I was used to her saying that), and if I spoke again I should be sent to bed. So when I thought Hamlet was going to make me another long speech, I shut my eyes, and made up my mind to go to sleep till it was over. , But my friend Horatio soon roused me. In fact,* he was one ofthe many actors who are determined to be heard, at any rate; and "tired Nature" must be very tired indeed if she could take her " second course" while he was declaim ing. I have met with many Horatios since, ahd they, like my first impression, are always great favourites with children and the uninformed. There was a star Horatio engaged in the last company I played wJh^and nine tenths of the audience thought anoTsMd he was a very fine actor. Well, let them think so ; I'll not contra dict them ; I was sorry myself when I was un deceived. Hamlet spoke Collins's beautiful " Ode on the Passions;" he didn't deliver it as the governess read it; I thought then he was right and she was wrong : I have changed my opinion since. The Ghost sang a comic song, and the whole party " Ye mariners of England," the candle-snuffer giving his " powerful aid" in the chorus. Exhausted with wonder and delight, I went to bed. I prayed every night that I might be made a good boy and go to heaven. I fell asleep, and dreamed that I had got there, and was surround ed by dozens of Hamlets, and Horatios, and Ghosts in red wigs and striped stockings, dan cing, and singing "all manner of songs," and the angels applauding them in the most boisterous manner; but when I waked, I didn't "cry to dream again," for, to my astonishment, I heard Horatio singing away with all his might in the housekeeper's room, amid clapping of hands and shouts of laughter. Before I elosed my eyes again that night, I made up my mind that I would rather be that Horatio, and do "all that," than b'e Horatio Nel son, though he had lost an eye, and banged the French. " Where then did the Haven go ? He went high and low ; Over hill, over dale, didrfhe black Raven go. • Many autumns, many springs, Travell'd he with wandering wings ; Many summers, many winters — I sha'nH tell half his adventures." Coleridge. CHAPTER. III. " Truly, in my youthVsuffered much extremity for love." •— Shakspeaue. I was just "turned sixteen," as the children say, but in manner and appearance much older. Three years in the navy, Va$ usual hardships of a sailor's life, a complexion stained with salt water and the sun of many climes, are materials to make boys into men at very short notice. I had three weeks' leave of absence, prior to a twelve months' cruise on the West India sta tion. My mother lived next door to Grosvenor Chapel; and on Sunday morning, determining to see all that could be seen (as my days were numbered), I " dropped in" to witness the service. In using Paul Pry's flippant expression, I must not now, nor then, be understood to have any but the most profound respect for all religious cere monies; but, having been educated a rigid Ro man Catholic, at that period my entering an Episcopal house of God was induced by pure curiosity. In the adjoining pew sat an elderly, tradesmanlike-looking man, with a pug nose, and a round, unmeaning face, resembling alto gether a very good-natured bulldog; with him a plump old lady, and an elegantly-dressed young creature — their daughter, of course ; but where could she get such an abominable, ple beian-looking father and mother 1 I felt angry that nature had made herself so ridiculous. She was most beautiful, refined in her deportment, and a perfectly aristocratic face. Her fine eye, I thought, sometimes wandered towards me ; a naval uniform, in those days, was quite as at tractive as a, soldier's is in these ; she sat close to me, nothing but the abominable bulkhead of the pew between us, " Where she kneel'd, and, saint-like, Cast her fair eyes to heaven, and pray'd devoutly." An angel's whisper ! there is no preaching I ever heard can produce on my mind such a pure devotional feeling as listening to little children and pretty women saying their prayers ; I ai rways want to go to heaven along with them di rectly. I thought I heard her sigh. Our eyes met as she said Amen ; my heart palpitated, and " Amen stuck in my throat." I had been in love two or three times before, and have been in love ever since, and perfectly understood all the symp toms; but, as Ollapod says, there were "matri monial symptoms in this case." In my own mind, I had got the consent of my mother (who* could refuse to permit a union with such a di vinity 1), and had retired, on a British midship man's luilfpay, to a " cottage near a wood," with-- a cow, cabbage-garden, chickens, and children.. The only impediment that appeared to cross my path to pre-eminent felicity was her puddingi- faced, pug-nosed parents ; my mother would de cidedly object to them, whatever she might think of their daughter. In my confusion of thought, I stood up in the pew, and popped on my hat with the cockade behind ; the old gentleman pointed out my error ; I thought I saw a child like giggle play over the beautiful face of my adored; I would have given two years' pay to be shot on the spot, or tossed overboard in a gale of wind, or mast-headed, out of sight of land or petticoats, for the rest of my life. The service ended, I gained the door as they did, and tender ed an awkward acknowledgment of thanks to the old man for correcting my ridiculous position. " Sir," said he, with a plethoric kind of chuckle, " you gentlemen of the navy, sir, don't often go 10 THIRTY YEARS to church, I suppose, sir ; but, sir, I love a sail or, sir; I'm a loyal subject, sir; God bless the king, sir, and God Almighty bless the queen, sir. She, sir, is, sir, the mother, sir — that is; the queen-mother, sir— and 'I'm blessed, sir, if she oughtened to be blessed, sir, for blessing the country, sir, with such a blessed lot of royal highnesses, sir. Sir, I'm a true-born English man, and a loyal subject, sir, and have the hon our to be leather-breeches-maker, sir, to His Roy al Highness the Duke of Sussex, sir," pointing, at the same time, to a sign over a bow- window, by the side of which he stopped, and rung a bell at the private entrance. The door was opened by a boy in undress livery ; we bowed and part ed. I looked up. Sure enough, there was " the precious evidence," " William (I think) Creek, Tailor and Breeches-maker in ordinary to His Royal Highness the Duke of Sussex," in green and gold letters, and the King's Arms in a semicircle over it, exactly four doors from my mother's house. I had followed my charmer (who was on the outside) at an angular distance of about three feet, sometimes on the curbstone, some times in the gutter, or, as a sailor might say, about two points to leeward. Wow this was not mauvaise Aonte on my part, but prudence; for, upon coming alongside in the first instance,. I found, to my astonishment, she was at least three inches taller than myself. In everyday language, she was what is called a magnificent creature, " With beauty too rich. for use, for earth too dear ;" a very effeminate, Miss Clifton style of woman. Over her sculptured form she had thrown a splendid scarlet mantle, trimmed with white er mine ; a white hat, with a drooping red feather, adorned her classic head. I am Still, and "for years have been, allowed to possess great taste for ladies' dress, but at the time I speak of, .per haps, it was a little Goldfinch-ish : " Sky-blue habit, scarlet sash, white hat, yellow ribands, rgold band and tassel — that's your sort !" I was in love — most horribly in love — f " 'Twas through my eyes the shaft had pierced my heart ; Chance gave the wound that time could never cure." But she was (oh horrible thought !) the daughter of a leather^breeches builder, and my mother, like Rob Roy, had "an utter contempt for weav ers, and spinners, and all such mechanical per sons." But thenhe made .breeches for His Roy al Highness the Duke of Sussex ! how might that soften down the bowels of aristocratic au thority ? There was hope in that thought,' and I determined to be measured for. a pair the next day : though I had but little time to wear them ; for, on the station to which I was ordered, even if the service would permit the costume, the cli mate would not. ¦ On the following morning I called on Mr. Creek. " Sir, he's at breakfast, sir," said the knock- kneed boy in the gray livery I had noticed the day before; "but, sir, if 'tis anything particular, sir, I'll call him, sir." "Do so, sir; I wish, sir, to see him, sir, di rectly, sir," said I, following the sir-ish fashion. The bow-window apartment I had entered was covered with a handsome carpet; in the centre a billiard-like table, on which were wri ting materials, and the papers of the day ; and the walls decorated with numerous mirrors. My prospect of consent began to brighten. If he was a breeches-maker, he didn't breakfast till ten o'clock, and kept a sort of livery-servant. I had barely time to think so much, and peep through aglass case, the width ofthe shop, covered with a demi-transparent green curtain, behind which at least thirty men were employed on a platform, stitching away at his royal "highness's small- olothes,~I suppose — when Mr. Creek appeared. His ratface was buttered from ear to ear, which he proceeded to wipe with his folded handker chief, while in his peculiar style he paid me the compliments of the day. When he came to a pause, I begged him, in my most urbane man ner,' to measure me for a suit of clothes. " Sir, with pleasure, sir. A uniform suit, of course,, sir? I pride myself on my uniform fil$g sir. This coat is a little too much — " I interrupted, no doubt, a learned lecture on what a uniform coat should be, by quietly say-" ing, " I wish a plain suit, Mr. Creek." "A plain suit, sir? Bless me, sir! have you left your ship for any ldhgth of time, sir ?" "I may shortly leave the navy altogether," said I, with a sigh. I thought of the cottage and the cow; and as my mother cheerfully paid my bills at that time, and might not after I had retired from the service and married.the tailor's daughter, prudence prompted me to ordel'a green coat, red waistcoat, and leather breeches — a very fitting dress for rural felicity. The red vest I ordered in compliment to the. colour of my wife's cloak — that was to be f and I hinted, that if it could be made off the same piece of cloth that his daughter's mantle was composed of, I should prize it more highly. I'imagined it was cabbage on an extensive scale. " Oh,' sir," said the'old man, his little blue eyes twinkling on either side oMiis bit of putty-like nose, "she's not my daughter. I — " "God be praised!'" explaimed I, not waiting for his. "wish she was" conclusion of his sentence,. I suppose. " Sir !" said he, his face suddenly assuming an expression of gravity which its fat-encumber ed muscles seemed impossible for it to achieve,' ' "sir — I beg pardon, sir — but I should like to know, sir, why you should appear so thankful, sir, that Anna is not my daughter, sir?" Anna ! I heard her name for the first time ; a pastoral, poetical, and pretty name — a real sail or's name: " I call her Anna, Anne, / Nan, Nance, or Naney/' 1 blundered out, that I had thanked God that, in addition to her natural protector, she had a friend of his age and respectability to guide her moral deportment, of which I judged from the sacred place to which he had conducted her when we first met. A shade of doubt passed over his countenance; but he recollected I was his customer, and his natural good-humour and common sense prevailed. In his own way, he went on to explain that Anna had no father ; he had died when she was an infant, and had left her mother "well to do in the world," with three children, all girls, two much older than Anna, and one long since married to a cousin of his wife. She was a native of , in Berkshire ; at her father's death, her mother had taken a milliner's shop, where Anna had learned the ru diments of the business, but had been sent to London under his care, and was now articled for three years (two and a half bf which were yet to stretch their slow length along) to the Misses Twicross, the, celebrated dressmakers PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. II in Bond-street, with a premium of fifty guineas, to be finished, as he called it. Upon giving my name and address, the old man exclaimed, "Why, bless me, sir! I have, sir, the honoui, sir, to be in great favour with your mamma, sir; my neighbour, sir; and, you know, sir, it's very few people as is, sit^-" with a kind of confidential chuckle. " You see,, sir, her kitchen-chimney was on fire, sir, and the maid-servants set up a terrible screeching, sir; and there was so much smoke, sir, that you could not see where the fire was, sir ; and the parish engine, sir, being in the basement. story ofthe chapel, sir, next house to hers, sir, as one may say, sir; I, sir, and my boy, sir, and the ssftD'or apple-woman, sir, that she kindly gives leave, sir, to sit at the corner of the court, sir, pulled it out, sir, and I dragged the hose into the passage, sir; but the fire went out, sir, before we could get any water, sir; but your good mamma, sir, coming down stairs, sir, and seeing me with the brass nozzle in my hand, sir, thought I had extinguished it, sir; and so, sir, whenever she speaks of me, sir, she always says, ' The good man that saved my properly by putting out tlie fire — Mr.— awhai's his name ? something that puts my teeth on edge ?' ' Mr. Creek, ma'am,' says Mary. ' Yes, Mr. Squeak — that's it.' " The jolly old man chatted himself into a most familiar good- humour. I recounted some 'of my ship-shape adventures, and, well pleased with each other, we parted, with my promising (oh, howgladly !) to take a cup of tea with himself and wife, and Anna, "just in the family- way," that evening. I am not. going to tantalize my readers with a rodomontade of love-making; "suffice it to say, Anna had received an education far above her station : affable, nay, even free in her manner, "than those who have more cunning to be ¦ strange," but with a .mind as simply pure and unpolluted as the stream that wanders through and adorns her native village. I readily obtained permission, to save M*. Creek the trouble, of conducting her to Borfd-street in the morning. The jovial old tailor had made us stand back to back, to decide our height; and he declared, "Anna, sir, is only an inch taller, sir, than you are, sir— ^ood measure, sir." When, at an early hour the next day, we met, I had heels to my boots that placed me on a level with her at any rate ; and, before we had crossed Grosvenor Square, I had good reason to believe that our hopes and wishes were more on an equality than our persons. Doubt not I was most punctual in my attendance to and from South Audley- street to Bond-street. Three times that week, and four the next, accompanied by the old peo ple, we attended the theatre. The first legiti mate play I ever beheld Anna sat beside me — 'twas Romeo and Juliet. " They must have played it on purpose," said the innocent Anna, in a whisper, and her cheek; wet with tears ; and I, in my heart, damned the author for not letting them live and be happy. Charles Kemble was the Romeo — the great Lewis, Mercutio-^VIiss Norton, Juliet— la, la (but I never saw a Juliet such as Shakspeare intended) — the glorious Mrs. Davenport, the Nurse -r- and Murray, the silver-toned, serene, and beautifully-natural Charles Murray, was the lovers' friend, the botanical Friar Lawrence. I passed two whole, dear, delicious Sundays in her society. Oh how sweet » To walk together to the kirk, And all together pray !" I spoke not of my difference of creed, for, for her sake, I would have turned Turk. • The old man was our confidant and council lor. "Sir, you must, join your ship, sir, at the proper time, sir; and Anna, sir, must finish her time with the Misses Twicross's, sir, and get the worth of her fifty guineas, sir ; and you must fight the enemies of Old England ! Oh I I'm a loyal subject, sir; and when you're a lieutenant, sir, and the old lady won't consent, sir, if you both, sir, think, sir, as yo'u do now, sir, and there should come a peace, sir, you'll get your half pay, «ir; you can teach transportation, nav igation 1 mean, sir, and drawing, and painting, sir" (I had been well instructed, and had taken his and his wife's portraits, and Anna's "picture in little") ; " and she will be mistress of her art, sir ; lam well to do in the world, sir ; have nei ther chick nor child ; Anna's father was a good friend of mine, sir — lent me money when I first went into business, sir ; but never fret, sir ; take things cool, as I do, sir," wiping the perspira tion from his fat forehead ; " all will be right, sir ; take my advice, sir." / wish to God I had. The fatal segpnd Sunday at length arrived — I thought, in the middle of the week. I had to set forth post,, at 7 P.M., to ensure my being on board by gunfire on Monday morning; but it was past nine before I could finish all my oaths of constancy, and exchange those tokens sailors think so sacred. With hope decking the future in the rainbow colours of love at seventeen, I rushed into the chaise, on a bright autumnal evening, and, faster than the sun, I seemed to travel on the same road to Portsmouth, to overtake him in a few weeks in the West Indies. The tedium of many a weary middle-watch in that sunburned sea has been relieved of its monotony in (castle-) building, the cottage, and the cow, the chickens and the children ; and then, " Look'd on the moon, And thought of Nancy." CHAPTER IV. " Hope, thou hast told me lies from day to day For nearly twenty years." Young. With my last shilling in my pocket, and my heart pretty nearly in the same place, I was seated about the middle ofthe high flight of stone steps leading to one ofthe entrances of the dock yards, watching the gambols of some boys ba thing on the shore beneath. " To myself I said," if I could only take courage, and keep my head under water as long as that lad does, " in a merry , sport," I might speedily end all my troubles, and • ¦$ the anxiety of those who still care for and love me. The red sun was dodging now and again be hind some fantastical long gray clouds, and ap parently descending with more than usual rapid ity, as if in derisive imitation of the friendship of man. "Good-by — I'm sorry for your misfor tunes, but — I'm in a hurry — good-by." I had arrived at Plymouth Dock about three weeks previous to this period, with " time cut from out eternity's wide round" before me, and fifty pounds in my pocket— an inexhaustible sum to my nineteen years' old experience — probably five guineas was the largest amount I had ever had in my possession before, at one time, in my 12 THIRTY YEARS life; all my necessities had been amply supplied, and every member of a cockpit knows that, as to money, " man wants but little there below." Young minds are more easily depressed than those which have had long experience of "for tune's buffets and rewards;" my landlady at the White Horse, who was the gray mare of that establishment, had that day given me notice of "no liquor and no credit," and two days more had elapsed than necessary to bring me an an swer to my letter, praying for positively the last assistance I would ever ask for. I had " wasted myself out of my means" in boarding every out ward-bound merchantman, and treating the cap tains to "five-pound suppers and after-drink- ings," to bribe my way as a mate in some craft bound to any land, " so not again to mine." But in those days my finished theoretical knowledge was an impediment to a command under these prejudiced, ignorant, " petty traffickers." The British navy, with two wars at her back, seized upon all who could be serviceable, and many a three and four hundred ton merchant vessel would go to sea with a skipper, two mates, and five or six landsmen or boys, to follow in the wake of a convoy, content with a dead reckoning, if any at all, kept on a black board with a piece of chalk. In the frame of mind I then was, I might, when the sun and little boys got out of my way, have wet myself at any rate, but that just as they were all preparing to depart, the arrival of a man-o'- war's boat immediately at* the foot of the stairs where I was sitting formed a new impediment to my cold-water experiment. " A gross, fat man," in a warrant officer's uniform, landed, fol lowed by a seaman bearing a large-sized chest : as he reached the step on which I sat, I rose to let him pass ; he, in a rough, authoritative man ner, exclaimed, in a broad Scotch dialect, " Od, but it's queer what can mak shore people sae fond o' sitting on sic a gangway as this — it's fu' small way — and no' intended for ony but his majesty's officers and sic like." Before the conclusion of his rude address, I had recognised him for an old shipmate ; our eyes met — he stood for an instant the picture of penitent astonishment, and in the next I was half crushed to death in his ponderous embrace. He had been before the mast of a sloop of war I belonged to for a short time, and in boarding a French lugger privateer, was wounded twice, and his bravery was instantly rewarded by ma king him a quartermaster, the first step for pro motion to a warrant. Our corvette was con demned as no longer seaworthy on her arrival at the very port where we now again met, and by accident he was sent on board the same ship 1 was then-tordered to join. He had always been a great favourite with me, for, apart from his being a brave man and a good sailor, his childlike blessing in the hour of peril on his old father and mother and his native home, proved the kindness of his nature ; and though he had not seen either since he was a boy, his tongue still retained as strong a love for its language as his heart did for its soil. Trinculo says, " Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows:", it certainly levels all dis tinctions. Pride and poverty had so struggled away the strength of my boyish mind, that even the rough kindness of this weather-beaten Scotchman so subdued my care-devil nature, that " tears, the heart's best balm," flowed in torrents, and I sobbed long and loud in his arms; had he been my father, 1 am sure I should have felt as I did then, but " I never a father's protection knew— Never had a father to protect." " Dinna fret man, dinna fret ; there's na use i' fretting— I ha' heard o' your scrape. Deil scoup wi' the feller as caused it— he's an awsome body that, and naebody su'd care till anger him — but ye was a'ways a rattling cheel. But ye ha' a gude friend i' the admiral, and he'll pass it a' ower easy." " He has passed it over easy," said I : "he has obtained my discharge by sick-list, to save me from a court-martial, Who, in its mercy, might have condemned me to be shot. Damn the ser vice ! and all that belongs to it." "Nay, nay," said he, soothingly, "yewoldna' damn me %" I could not speak— my heart felt as if it had overflowed up to my neck — I grasped his honest hand. " I didna' ken the case was sae bad," said he : " let's say na mair about it ; you must awa home wi' me. Oh, you need na stare, I ha' got a home and a wife too — " ' In every port we find a home, In every home a wife, sir.' " Oh, she's a real wife — I was na' but bleating out an auld snatch of a song just to cheer ye up like. Heave a head wi' the trunk, Steeney — " to* the seaman, a long, red- whiskered fellow ; a countryman, no doubt. " I ha' gotten a wee drib ble o' Port wine in a keg in it, whilk I'm taken right through the yard" — with an amateur smug gler's look — " so they mayna' suspect onything ; the puir body at home is fond of a wee sup, hot wi' sugar, afore turning in." His explanation of the contents of the box was superfluous, for I heard the well-known squish, squash, as the man again lifted it on his shoul der. After passing unmolested through the dock yard, a few short turns brought us to a shoe maker's shop; behind the counter was a little man with wax-ends and upper leather written in his face (what a strange thing it is that shoe makers always look like shoemakers) : he was employed in lighting a second candle, for it was then dark. "Awa' above wi' the prize, Steeney, and tell Missus Mackay," with a strong emphasis on the Missus, and a twinkle of his good-natured eye at me, " tell Missus Mackay to put a' to rights, as she ca's it — I ha' gotten a gentleman wi' me. Mr. Hobblin," to the shoemaker ('twas his real name), " this is the gentleman I tell'd ye of, as got me made" (here he gave me another disa bling shake of the hand). " I'll tell ye a' about it — and that'll gi' the auld woman time till get a' ready — she's a wee bit fussy; but, gude sir, gude — take a chair — I can sit anywhere," poun cing his ponderous person on a pile of sole leather in the corner, which his weight brought immediately to within a foot of the floor ; " ye need na' mind, Master Hobblin ; no harm done ; it's got till be hammered, ony how. Weel, ye see, I was on liberty, taking a cruise on the Holy Ground, as they ca' it ; if ye was ever at Cove o' Cork, ye marni ken, there's na sic a place for fun in a' England, or Scotland till boot— weel, I was having a crack wi' an auld shipmate as be- langed till the Yohis— he was braggin' o' his ship, but na braggin' o' his captain ; ye ken when fel lers are afore the mast," here he polished one of the anchor buttons on his sleeve, " they will a' PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 13 grumble sometimes wi'out cause — but in his case, I dare say, he was na' far out in his reck oning. Weel, ye see, as^Pcould na' brag my ship against his, I bragged on our captain— he comes frae puir auld Scotland— and naebody had muckle chance till say onything against him; he wad but just walk up the 'commodation lad der every day at twal o'clock, and if there was .na' ony punishment, he'd raak his bow and gang down again ; and if there sud be a needcessity to punish some puirdewil, he'd na' seem to takony pleasure in it — just read the articles o' war, and ask the 1'eller if he wad prefer till be tried by a court-martial, and mair than likely get hanged, or take twa or three dozen at aince. In course they a' did, whiles I belanged till the ship, but ane puir, daft toad o' an Irishman, and he wad insist till be tried by the laws o' his country, as he ca'd jt; and he dangled at the ear-ring o' the foreto'- sail yard — there's na gude in being ower obsti- Jiate — weel, ye maun ken, if it was for naething .mair than owerstaying liberty, or the like o' that; when they'd gotten a dozen or sae, he'd whisper till the doctor, and the doctor wad whis per till the captain, and he'd say, ' Master-at- arms, take him down ;' then they'd pipe the sides men, and he wad make his bow and shove off. Weel, ye see, as I had got till windward o' him as till our commander (that is, our captain — the admiral was the commander, o' course, though I ne'er seed him but aince, and then he was a .horseback ; I bow'd till him as in duty bound, and he bow'd till me becase he liked it), I -thought I wad brag o' the ship a wee bit ; ye ken frae Mother Oakley's door ye can see her, moored off Haul-bowlin Island ; weel, ye see, just as I was pointing out the beauty o' her model — crack ! crack ! goes the muskets o' the twa centries o' the Tender, and in a minute a'ter- •wards three out o' four marines blazed awa frae ahe Trent, but they did na' ken at what ; the Ten der lying in-shore, they could na' see, as I did, that four men had cut the painter o' the yawl irae the guess-warp o' the Tender, and were ma king for shore. I gave chase till overhaul 'em, .as they made up hill, and just came up as young jn aster, here, had brought them to; ye see, the •sight o' a uniform till a round jacket, is like till 31 constable's stave till you landsmen ; they were Jfresh press'd men, and wad a' gaed quietly .aboard, but, in a minute or sae, full a hundred women and bairns a' thegether, set up a yelloch that made a' ring again, and came rampanging like so many devils, wi' sticks, and staves, and a' kinds o' kitchen furniture ; the women fought like furies, and the bairns a bletherin a' the time in full chorus, we suld ha' been murdered but that his boat was a' ready at the landing, and .sae we managed till get the men o' board. I gat this gash on my cheek, and ycung master wi' a big bump on his head instead o' his hat. We had baith been in a real fuss thegither, a short lime afore, and was baith on the list for promo- lion ; there's naething like untill a friend at court, IMr. Hobblin ; he had gotten the ear o' the ad miral, and sae he put baith this and that thegith er, and I was made a gunner, and sent on board the Dryad. But let's awa aloft and see the auld woman." Eve, they tell us, was made out of one of her husband's ribs ; Mrs. Mackay (as far as bulk was concerned) could have been made very ea sily out of one of her husband's legs; he was a remarkably large man, and she a remarka- b.y small woman, but the best brewer of punch I ever met with before or since. We had a jo vial evening — in vino Veritas — I tola all ; and Mrs. Mackay insisted that she should make me up "a nice bed on the sofa," and remain and talce "pot luck" with them till pay-day came, when my old shipmate would settle up arrears, and I should quit the mess at the White Horse. His vessel was undergoing repairs, and he. was on shore-duty at the navy yard, having flint locks shipped on the carronades. " A maist abominable invention," as he said, "just as much as till say that every captain o' a gun at the Nile, St. Vincent, or Trafalgar was o' no gude till the service." To gratify my friend and amuse myself. I had taken an " inveterate likeness" of my old ship mate, and another of his little wife ; these were shown to Mr. Hobbling, their landlord. His brother was the deputy-mayor of the little Rotten Borough of Saltash in Cornwall, at that time called so with justice, for it could boast of send ing two members to Parliament to represent a population six or eight houses were sufficient to contain; while Birmingham, and Manchester and other large and densely-inhabited places^ had no " sweet voices" in the councils of their country. The chief magistrate, as I have ob served, was "despatched by deputy," and this dignitary requested I would take two such like nesses of himself and wife, ibr which he was willing to pay any price. I undertook the task for thirty guineas, and gave such satisfaction that I received twenty more for making copies. During the time occupied in this operation on the mayor and his wife, I called, with my friend Mackay, at an extensive manufactory of glazed leather hats: a regulation had just been intro duced in the navy, to have an initial of the ship's name, or some fanciful device, on the hat of each of the crew, as a good mark to know what ves sel he belonged to, in the event of desertion or ill conduct on shore. All the mystery of the pro cess I learned by looking on, the design and ex ecution "came by nature;" and I actually dec orated with a 3D, in genuine gingerbread style, the hats of the crew of a ship on board of which, a short year ago, I was an officer. An old messmate, a lieutenant of marines, who had borrowed a guinea of me " for an hour" three weeks before, called one day (perhaps to borrow another) and caught me at my degrading employment, as he chose to consider it, and the next morning he crossed a muddy street to avoid speakingto me. But for my own part, conscious pride and confidence in my own resources made me for the first time in my life feel independent, and that feeling has never forsaken me midst many turns of " Giddy fortune's furious, fickle wheel, — That goddess blind." But for meeting with the character to whom I devote the next chapter, I might have been paint ing hats or faces " at this present writing." CHAPTER V. " Jig off a tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with your feet, humour it with turning up your eyelids ; sigh a note, and sing a note ; with your hat penthouse-like o'er the shop of your eyes; with your arms crossed on your thin belly- doublet, like a rabbit on a spit ; or your hands in your pock ets like a man after the old painting ; and keep not too long in one tune, but snip and away. These are accom plishments, these are humours ; these betray nice wenches. 14 THIRTY YEARS that would be betrayed without these ; and make them men of note that most are affected to these." — Love's Labour Lost. I was seated in the reading-room of the hotel, thinking away the half hour before dinner, when my attention was attracted by a singularly-look ing man. He was dressed in a green coat, brass-buttoned close up to the neck, light gray, approaching to blue, elastic pantaloons, white cotton stockings, dress shoes, with more riband employed to fasten them than was either useful or ornamental ; a hat, smaller than those usually worn, placed rather on one side of a head of dark curly hair; fine black eyes, and what altogether would have been pronounced a handsome face, but for an overpowering expression of impudence and vulgarity ; a sort of footman-out-of-place- looking creature; his hands were thrust into the pockets of his coat behind, and in consequence exposing a portion of his person, as ridiculously, and perhaps as unconsciously, as. a turkey-cock does when he intends to make himself very agree able. He was walking rather fancifully up and down the room, partly singing, partly whistling " The Bay of Biscay O," and at the long-lived, but most nonsensical chorus, he shook the fag- ends of his divided coat tail, as if in derision of that fatal "short sea," so well known and de spised in that salt-water burial-place. I was pretending to read a paper, but, in fact, puzzling my brain in endeavouring to recollect on what side of this many-manned world I had met this human being before, when a carrier entered, and placed a play-bill before me on the table. I had taken it up and began perusing it, when he strutted up, and leaning over my shoulder, said, " I beg pardon, sir ; just a moment." I put it towards him. "No matter, sir, no matter; I've seen all I want to see — the same old two-and-sixpence — Hamlet, Mr. Sandfard, in large letters ; and La ertes, Mr. Vandenhoff— oh !" And with an epithet not in any way alluding to the " sweet South," he stepped off to the Bis cay tune, allegro. I was amused; and perhaps the expression of my face encouraged him to re turn instantly, and with the familiarity of an old acquaintance — and that he was, 1 was convinced, in some way.or other — said, " My dear sir, that's the way the profession is going to the devil : here, sir, is the ' manager' " — with a sneer — " one of the damnedest humbugs that ever trod the stage, must have his name in large letters, of course ; and the and Laertes, Mr. Vandenhoff— he's a favourite of the Grand Mo gul, as we call old Sandford, and so he. gets all the fat; and d'ye know why he's shoved down the people's throats ? Because he's so damned bad the old man shows to advantage alongside of him. Did you ever see him?" I shook my head. " Why, sir, he's a .tall, stooping, lantern-jaw ed, asthmatic-voiced, spindle-shanked fellow." Here he put his foot on the rail of my chair, and slightly scratched the calf of his leg. " Hair the colour of a cock-canary," thrusting his fin gers through his own coal-black ringlets ; " with light blue eyes, sir, trimmed with pink gymp. He hasn't been long caught ; just from some nun nery in Liverpool, or somewhere, where he was brought up as a Catholic priest; and here he comes, with his Latin and Lancashire dialect, to lick the manager's great toe, and be hanged to him, and gets all the business ; while men of talent, and nerve, and personal appearance," I shifting his hands from his coat pockets to those of his tights, " who have drudged in the profes sion for years, are kept in the back-ground ; 'tis enough to make a ielHtv? sweat I" Very adroitly blowing'his nose with his fin gers, and cleaning them on a dirty, once-white pocket-handkerchief. " You, then, sir, are an actor ?" said I, calmly. " An actor ! yes, sir, I am an actor, and have (been ever since I was an infant in arms ; played i the child that cries in the third act ofthe comedy ', of 'The Chances,' when it was got up with splendour by Old Gerald, at Sheerness,when I was only nine weeks old; and I recollect, that is, my mother told me, that I cried louder, and more naturally, than any child they'd ever had. That's me," said he, pointing to the play-bill — Horatio,. Mr. Howard. " A thought, more like a dream than an assu rance," flitted past my mind, and I was about to* ask a question, but he proceeded. " I used to make a great part of Horatio once ; and I can now send any Hamlet to h — in that character, when I give it energy and pathos;, but this nine-tailed bashaw of a manager insists upon my keeping my ' madness in the back ground,' as he calls it, and so I just walk through it, speak the words, and make it a poor, spoony, preaching son of a how-came-ye-so,. and do no more for it than the author has. But, sir, I'll pledge you my honour that whan I be longed to Old Lee's company, at Totness, a lady, who resided at Tor-Cluay, had heard so much of me in this very part, that she engaged me, at an enormous expense, to represent the character at her own house." I was right in my suspicions : it was, indeed, an old acquaintance, the beau ideal of my child hood, the identical Horatio. " And after," he continued, " I had enchanted them with my performance, I was had into the; drawing-room, had a damned good supper, gave them the ' Bay of Biscay,' one of my best songs — . ' There she lay, all the dav- ' You know the thing, I suppose ; the old lady plied me with bottled porter, hot, with nut meg and sugar" (I thought of good-natured C , the housekeeper), " plenty of preserves, cold chicken, and pickles ; and in the morning,, after a thundering breakfast, ^she clapped a knuckle of ham and a piece of pound-cake into- a clean sheet of paper, as she said, to pass away the time in the coach." " That was a high compliment, Mr. Howard," said I, without knowing what I said: I was again at home, with all my hopes unblasted. "A high compliment, sir! it was the. most high compliment that ever was paid to any tragedian of eminence, except the compliment that was paid to John Kemble, when he was engaged, at two-and-sixpence an hour, to read to the Duke of Norfolk, when he was laid up with the gout." I cannot vouch for the authenticity of this anecdote, as I never heard of the circumstance before, nor since. Dinner was announced ; with out expecting or intending him to accept my cold invitation, I artificially said, " Will yon join me, sir ?" "My dear sir," he replied, "nothing could , give me greater pleasure than to cut your mut ton and tap your tankard, as we say ; but I have a very particular engagement at three o'clock, to promenade two charming girls, the Misses Buckingham — splendid creatures, I assure you PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 15 — I'll introduce you. I want to beau them up and down George-street once or twice, just to make a widow of my acquaintance miserable, who lives in that neighbourhood. You under stand me ; ha, ha, ha ! Have you^he time ?" " I have not," said I, with a suppressed sigh. I thought of my watch, pawned past hope of redemption. " But as I ordered my dinner at three, I presume that is the hour." And was slightly bowing my way between him and theli door, when, suddenly hooking his arm within mine, he exclaimed, "But what have we to do with the time of the day ? unless minutes were capons, and hours were cups of sack, as jolly Jack Falstaff says. I have taken a great fancy to you, and shall be happy to befriend you in any way in my power. I'll get you an order for the play to-night, and if you'll go, dam'me if I don't let out a little. The girls will play the devil with me for disappoint ing them, but I'll gammon 'em ; say I had a part to study; it does me good to tease 'em some times, they like you the better for it ; and, as you're so very pressing, I'll accept your kind invitation." I had seen enough of the world to perfectly understand all this ; but I was amused, so led to the dining-room and ordered another chop. "Two," said he, "two; and harkye, sweet heart," picking up a pickle with his fingers and popping it into his mouth, "let's have, a pot of porter directly." I always adored character, and though I didn't believe him to be a very estimable one, to me, then, he was an original. . He ate fast and ¦slovenly, frequently using and praising thegood old adage of "fingers were made before tongs;" he •called, in a tragic tone, for " another. chop and. some ¦cheese !" and " a pint of porter at my expense .'" The last part of the order I instantly contra dicted. " Well, well, just as you say, ".said he. "Then bring Mr. Cowell another pot.of. porter, and make haste, d'ye hear !" Not being, aware that I had mentioned my name during our con versalion, if it might so be called, where he had had nearly all the talk to himself, I inquired how he had learned it. "Why, my dear sir, I. happened to be in the bar-room this morning, and the landlord came in, and says he to his wife, 'What do you think, my dear---Mr. Cowell has paid his bill.' 'He has !' says she ; ' well, now, I declare, I always thought he was a very nice young man ; and, no doubt, as he has got the reminiscence as he ex pected — ' Remittance, of course, she meant. 1 know well enough what remittances are ; I often have occasion for . them myself. For, with the paltry sum of five pounds a week-^my salary in ¦the theatre — I find it very difficult sometimes" — retying his shoestring in a large bow — "to make both ends meet. You happened to pass by at the time she was speaking. ' There goes Mr. Cowell,' says 'she; 'the most perfectest gentle man as ever stopped at ahouse.' I was pleased myself with your appearance,, and resolved to form a friendship with you. But I must be off. I'll call and take, a cup of tea, and make it up with the girls., I've got to break the neck, too, of a blasted part for to-morrow night. Nay, keep your seat. 'My love as yours to mine.' Adieu !" True to his word, he sent the order. I visited the theatre — and was disgusted. It was one of the plays I had seen in my halcyon days with Anna. I only remembered Kemble in the cast; who but a professor could or would remember any one else? "A combination and a form, in deed, where every- god did seem to set his seal, to give the world assurance of a man." fwas well acquainted with the text; having, when quite a boy, been presented with an ele gant edition of Shakspeare by a scholar and a gentleman, the chaplain of a ship I belonged to ; and, next to the Bible, he recommended it to my particular perusal. The manager— -the large-lettered humbug— was decidedly deserving the distinction " himself had made," but the resfcwere villanous, and Horatio the worst of alf I was shocked and angry at my boyish judgment. How is it that children — I mean children with a fair proportion of brains — are so contradictory in taste? I have heard a little girl bestow such pretty praise on a primrose or a butterfly, that I have blushed for my own incompetence so rich ly to express my feeling ; and, in the next half hour, have seen the same child in ecstasies of admiration and delight at the antics of some vul gar clown in the arena of a circus. My visit to the theatre that evening glanced a ray of sunshine on my clouded path, and I ar gued thus: " If such a man as'this Howard can get five pounds a week for what he does, I can do the same, or more. By , I'll turn actor !" I went to my room and wrote the letter which will be found in the next chapter. CHAPTER VI. " 'Tis easy then for a new name, . And a new. life, fashioned, on old desires." Shelley. ".TO GEORGE SANDFORD, Esa. " Plymouth Dock, January 11, 1812. " Sir — I wish to become an actor. I will be content to receive a small amount of pay, until I get acquainted with the duties I have to per form. I have learned lago, in Shakspeare's play of Othello, and could easily get perfect in Bet- cour, in Cumberland's comedy of The West In dian. I have seen Elliston in that character in London, and have vanity enough to believe I could play either of them. Your early reply through the postofficc will oblige " Yours respectfully, "Leathley Irving." i Three anxious days passed; and " nothing for Leathley ilrving !" was all 1 could get from the postoflice. On the fourth, "one penny!" was demanded, and a very gentlemanly-looking note was pushed through the hole to the following eflect: "George Sandford presents his compliments to Mr, Leathley Irving, and will be happy to have a conversation with him at his house on Thursday next. "To Leathley Irving, Esq. Tuesday evening." His address, I found, was at a handsome fan cy-shop in George-street. Of a tall, sedate, el derly lady, seated behind the counter, I inquired for Mr. Sandford, and handed my card. An an swer returned in a minute, " that Mr. Sandford had an appointment with a gentleman at that hour, but I might name my business, or please to call again." I was turning towards the door, with an indignant " no matter," when the thought occurred to me that I had sent in my real name; 16 THIRTY YEARS and, in some embarrassment, I stated that I had made a mistake in the card — that it was Mr. Leathley Irving, with whom he had an engage ment, who desired to see him. I was immedi ately conducted through the parlour at the back ofthe shorjji,then through the kitchen, by a pret ty little servant-maid, who, after knocking at a door on one side, and waiting for a pompously- sounding " Come in !" on the other, lifted the latch, dropped me a courtesy, and I found my- , ,feel the thoughts and language of others, and use self in the presence of a rather (had been) hand some man, of middle stature, about forty years of age, with a profusion of hair (the remains of last night's powder still discernible), rubbed up in all directions and strik'mg individual atti tudes, resembling the angular, dislocated curls shreds of leather would make if suddenly pop ped into a broiling-hot frying-pan. He was en veloped in a large-patterned calico morning- gown (will anybody tell me why managers of theatres have such a predilection for morning- gowns? I have found but one exception to the fashion in eight-and-twenty years, from George Sandford down to Ludlow and Smith). He was pacing, with " Tarquin's ravishing rtrides," an apartment as large as "parlour, kitchen, and hall;" a book in one hand, and my card in the other. " Sir," said he, as he turned and met me, " whom have I the honour of addressing — Mr. Cowell or Mr. Leathley Irving?" " Sir," I replied, in the same authoritative tone in which he had asked the question, " the card bears the name I'm known by ; but, if I turn player, I choose to be called Irving." " What lor, sir?" said the manager, handing me a chair, and drawing another close to me: "what the devil for, sir ? I have been an actor more than twenty years, and have known many serious in conveniences occur to men in after life from the folly of changing their names when boys. It's damned nonsense, sir ! There can be but one ex cuse for a young man's assuming a false name upon entering my profession, and that is, that his previous course in life has made him dam nably ashamed of his own." I felt the blood mount to my forehead, and I instinctively rose from my chair. " Oh, sir," said my new friend, with a peculiarly bland and placid smile, " keep your seat ; don't imagine I suspect you of hav ing cause to be ashamed of your name; 'tis the reverse case with you: you assume another name because you are ashamed of a pursuit either your taste or your necessities induce you to adopt. Now, sir, with such a feeling you can never be an actor. No man can ever be emi nent in a profession he considers it a disgrace to follow. The Drama, I confess, ' bears but an HI name in the forest,' but the blame lies with the professers, and not with the profession. " There are myriads of men who are a dis grace to the pulpit, the bar, or the stage ; but the frightful responsibility of daring to unfold the cloak pretended piety assumes, and the legal cunning of the advocate, often lets the parson and the lawyer pass unscathed, while the poor player walks, with his hundred errors, stark na ked through the world, for every daw to peck at." There was much good sense peeping through his enthusiastic style of thought; and I, in very honesty of heart, told him, in few words, my painful history. " My good young friend," said he, in a tone of voice well trained to assist his meaning, " keep the name you say you have a claim to, and now are known by — you have good requisites, and, „by industry and perseverance, may become an ornament to the stage. But 'tis a briery path to preferment in this urofession ; it requires time and laborious study *» make even a passable performer ; your figure, face, and voice must be apprenticed, day and night, to nature. A refined and well-educated mind may be formed by art and industry; but it must naturally possess the wonderful instinctive capacity to seize upon and them with the same ease and freedom as if they were your own. To be a great actor 'is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.' Have you a good study ?" I replied in the negative. " I'm sorry to hear that ; without a good study your labours will be so severe you'll be disgust ed with the undertaking before you reach th& threshold of success." " Oh, sir," said I, " that I can easily remedy." "How, sir? how? Practice will improve it, I'm aware, but how can you so easily remedy a bad study?" " By changing my apartment," I replied j " my chamber is next the dining hall, and unless they give me one more privately situated, I'll move to another house." " You reprove me well," said he, with a smile :: " we actors use the term study for the attributes of memory ; the place and time for its exercise are varied by circumstances and the habits of its. owner." He appeared pleased to hear me say I had great facility in acquiring anything I wished to* learn. " Come, to the proof, then," said he, jovially -r " let's have a speech straight. You say you are perfect in 'Iago;' let's have one of his solilo quies, with good emphasis and good discretion."' He saw my embarrassment, and, in pure good, taste, waived the subject; not like some puppies I have since seen sit, in satirical pomposity, en joying the tortures of some trembling tyro, though that very sensibility is the best indicative of tal ent, and the sure attendant upon genius. " Sir, 1 propose you shall make your appear ance in Belcour this day week; but — " he contin ued, " be most dreadfully perfect, not only in what you have to say yourself, but in whatever any one else has to say to you ; get so awfully perfect. that, if you are suddenly awoke in the night, you- will be able to repeat the whole character with out hesitation. In the mean time, it will smooth your path to get acquainted (in the way of bu siness) with the company— and I am proud to. say I have some gentlemen in my employ; Mr. Moore, an excellent low comedian, and a prop er man, and Vandenhoff, though with very lit tle talent, possesses a superior mind, and an ex cellent education. Inquire for me at the stage- door this evening, and take a tete-a-tete dinner with me at three to-morrow, and any advice or as sistance you may require, and I can give, you/ may command." This was the man " Horatio" had described as an insolent, tyrannical blackguard. Poor George Sandford. He died a few years since, regretted and respected by all whose good opinion he would have condescended to care for while living. He was a native of the city of New- York; and 'tis somewhat strange that my best theatrical friend and manager first saw the light in the same city where my last born open ed her eyes, and in a country I by choicevhave been a citizen of for more than half my thinking PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 17 life. I shall like to meet that man in the other world, and tell him all about his native country. He was an excellent general actor. I have rea son to believe his education was intuitive (the better, after all). His King Lear and Doctor Pangloss were the most finished representations -of the characters I ever saw. I visited the green-room, where I was favour ably received, particularly by the ladies, among whom was a sister of Alec. Drake, for many jears the favourite comedian of the "West." She had a pretty voice, pretty face, but waddled like a duck. She was my Louisa Dudley. I tried very hard to be really in love with her, for 'the sake of increasing the effect, but I believe she succeeded better than I did in the experi ment. I had three carefully-conducted rehear sals, each one serving to convince me more strongly that I was incapable of the task my self-esteem had induced me to believe so easy. The night arrived — January the twenty-third, 1812. " The part of BelcouT by a gentleman, his first appearance on any stage," attracted a full and very fashionable house. Admiral Calder, the ¦commander of the port, and a large party, occu pied the stage-box. I had many shipmates in harbour at the time, and some relatives :,all, of course, attended, induced by pity ; how I hate the word — scorn or curiosity. I had been used to danger in many shapes, and fear is not an attribute of my nature, but I was most damnably frightened on that occasion. I spoke the words mechanically, but I could nei ther see nor hear ; my mouth was parched ; what to do with my hands I knew not; I deposited them in all sorts of places ; if both arms had been •amputated, I felt assured I should have been re lieved of an abominable encumbrance. Embar rassed by my embarrassment, SlockweU bungled in one of his speeches : I repeated it, and then spoke mine in reply; the audience, confound them, laughed and applauded. I felt" I had done wrong: my brain whirled in confusion, and I rushed off the stage before the conclusion ofthe scene, amid deafening shouts, yells, and huzzas, such as are generally humanely bestowed upon the retreat from a buteher's-stall of some poor ¦de vil of a dog with a tin kettle tied to his tail ; and at that moment, I have no- doubt, I experienced precisely the same sensations. " For God's sake give me a glass of grog !" I stammered out ; " and, my dear sir;" grasping the hand of the manager, kindly extended to me at the entrance, "finish the part for me: I feel my incapacity, and only regret my conceit caused me to make such a jackass of myself." " Pho, pho ! you must conclude what you have begun," said he, in his positive but gentlemanly manner; "the first plunge is over, you'll feel your power in the next scene ; your great fault is, you try to do too much ; stand still, don't act, and speak louder ; think you are talking to some one in the gallery, and then, if you only whisper, you'll be heard all over the house : take another sup of brandy and water — there — that's your cue." I felt encouraged by grog and good advice, and the next scene is a very effective one : I im itated Elliston as well as I could, and was ad mirably supported and encouraged by the manner ofthe excellent actress who performed Mrs. Ful- mer, and I retired amid the wnboundedapptause of a brilliant and overflowing audience. " There," said my mentor, triumphantly, " didn't I tell you how it would be ! 'tis deeided- C ly the best first appearance I have seen for years." I gained courage as the comedy proceeded ; and at its conclusion, the manager, amid thunders of applause, announced it for repetition on the Sat urday following : " The part of Belcow by the young gentleman who had been so favourably re ceived that evening." The barbarous fashion was not then invented of demanding the presence of the object of sup posed admiration or ridicule, to add to his mis eries, by expecting him to speak, or bow, or make a fool of himself in some way or other, which, nowadays, these victims of vanity on both sides usually do. CHAPTER VII. " What, wouldst thou have mc go and beg my food 1 Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce A thievish living on the common road ? This, I must do, or know not what to do : Yet this 1 will not do, do how I can ; I rather would subject me to the malice Of a diverted blood." Shakspeaee. Everybody said my performance was most excellent for a first appearance, but I felt no self- satisfaction. To the inexperienced, the more pure and true to nature acting is, the easier it appears ; but to rant, and shout, and " out-herod Herod," distort the face and form in a way that no human being ever did off t/ie stage, in his senses or out of them, seems a most arduous un dertaking. This caused the delusion under which I laboured. In the seven plays I saw with Anna (we ne'er shall look upon their like again), all difficulty was so concealed by the refinement of art, that I foolishly, yet firmly, believed I could sustain .any of the characters quite as well, with out dreaming I should ever be put to the test. I have.no data of any kind, I am sorry to say, but the impression they made on my memory is as fresh at this distant period as it was the morning after I saw the performance, and I will name part of the "casts" of some of them. The West Indian. Belcour Elliston. James H- Caldwell is the only actor on this side the water I have seen approach him in gen teel comedy. OfFlaherty 7 - Johnstone. Worth a hundred Powers, if even Power had been really what he had the tact to make the public believe he was. Charles Dudley De Camp. Then a most elegant young man, and an ex cellent actor, in spite of his conceited, paw ! paw ! voice. Varland - Dowton. Then in his prime ; a shadow of his former self came to this country about three years ago. " AH that's bright must fade.." Stockwell Powell. Charlotte - Miss Duncan. A delightful actress in such characters. Louisa I forget her name, but she was a most beauti ful creature (almost all that is necessary for the part). I remember I praised her so highly, that poor Anna declared she thought " she was a per fect fright." 18 THIRTY YEARS Hamlet. I recollect nothing but Kemble, and that his brother Charles was Laertes; but "the King, the Q,ueen, and all the Court," are all buzz. Isabella. The principal characters by Brunton, Charles Kemble, Kemble, and Mrs. Siddons. On the Saturday I was more collected; my hearing and sight were restored; though I was often interrupted by some sea-phrase applicable to the sentence I was uttering, or a well-meant expression of encouragement, every now and then, from, probably, some old shipmate, to the great amusement of the rest of the audience ; and, at the conclusion of the performance, "Three cheers for the blue jacket!" was announced, and performed in full chorus. This latter compli ment I was in the habit of. receiving upon the slightest occasion, during the season ; for, though I had been dismissed the navy with a " flea in my ear," my offence was "a feather in my cap" in the estimation of my comrades of my own grade, or those beneath me. " By the Eternal ! I had the popular vote," as my friend General Jackson would say. The pit, gallery, and upper-boxes of the Dock Theatre, at that time, were crowded with sailors and marines, with their xoivesfor a week, and dock yard ma-tes, as they were called, between whom and the round-jackets existed a continual " well- fought war." These jolly " gods" had a nick name for nearly every member of the company. I found they greeted my friend Horatio with, "Hurra for Sky-blue!" This appellation he had gained in consequence of his great attach ment for the very " tights" he wore the first morning I met with him. He played Major O'Flaherty; there they were, with a gold band down each side. He rendered them, as actors say, " a very useful property." They could be worn, " for a change," with black Hessian-boots, or russet, or shoes of any colour with stockings; but sandals they set at defiance; for shabby- genteel characters, a red or white patch or two made them " very characteristic ;" and as to stripes, they would bear any but blue. About this period there was a certain "odd kind of a new method of swearing" ran through the fleet, and " By Cheeks the marine" was a fa vourite oath. A very old actor, of the name of Chambers, whose weakness it was to boast con tinually that he had " had his ancestors too," on that evening was struck by an apple, thrown from the gallery; taking it up, he stepped for ward, and very pompously said, " I'll give twenty pounds to know who threw this apple !" " Cheeks the marine !" cried a voice from above. When the shout the response created was over, draw ing himself up, and glancing at the commander of the port in the stage-box, he said, with a sigh to bygone greatness, " In my schoolboy days I knew an admiral of that name." " Huzza, boys ! huzza! three cheers for Admiral Cheeks I" He had christened himself most effectually forever in that company, to his own annoyance, and the destruction of any serious scene in which he was concerned. For the last five-and-twenty years I would have gloried in them as a low comedy audience ; but at that time they often played the devil with my juvenile tragedy. Mackay and his wife were loud in their en comiums. "Ye looked sae slick-like," said my honest friend, " wi' ye'r white silk wash-boards till ye'r coat; ye looked mair like a sailor than a' the. rest thegither, wi' ye'r bonny leg a leetle bow'd,, and baith ye'r taes turned' in, as if ye'r war standing firm on ye'r shanks in a chappin sea;. an' the hitch ye gave ye'r small claith.es when ye said onything clever was the best o' a'. L ne'er seed but ane actor as guid, and he was na sae much better nether — 'twas a leetle Scots pony, at Portsdown Fair. He was a saucy wee bit toad that, that when his master wad say till him, 'Billy, what's tlie hour, my chielf he'd paw, and paw — ane, twa, or as mony as it was, as natural as a quartermaster makin'" eight bells." Now this I considered the highest compliment paid to me by any of my friends ; and how often, since would I have preferred being said to be "almost as good as a learned pig, or pony" than. "to be nearly equal" to some two-legged baboon, with a red tail, black eyebrows, and a mouth. from ear to ear! The following day (Sunday) I dined with the: manager. After the cloth was drawn, his goods lady had retired, and he had twice thrust the de- • canter towards me, he said, " I requested this. interview, Mr. Cowell, that we might talk over and consider in what way I could serve you %, but abetter I received this morning, most fortu nately, points out a path for you at once. I can didly tell you, I have no doubt on my mind as- to your ultimate success in the drama. Mr- Fisher, a friend of mine, who has a small com pany travelling in Cornwall, writes me here to- recommend (if in my power) a young man to< supply a vacancy in juvenile tragedy and light comedy; there you will gain confidence by con stant practice, and next season I will be happy to receive you. I will, therefore, if you say so,. write to him to-day, and name you." I thanked him, but respectfully declined his- offer : to engage to play juvenile tragedy and, light comedy, without knowing a single charac ter, with a stranger for my manager, and per haps a stranger company, was an undertaking- too appalling for me to accept. " But, my dear sir," I continued, " if you will permit me'to re main with you, and play at intervals any parts- you may think me capable of sustaining, I will paint portraits and teach drawing in my interims; of leisure tor a living, and not require any pay." " Sir," said he, with emphasis, " an amateur I have a horror of; we have actors enough al ready, ' e'en as many as can well live one by an other ;' the line of business you are fitted for at present is already filled, and it is the etiquette of" the profession never to dispossess an actor of a. character he has once played, if he is at all ca pable of sustaining it." I felt and looked, I imagine, mortified and dis appointed. " Then," said I, "since there is no. hope of an engagement this season, I will teach drawing and navigation (if I can get any pupils),. and wait till next year." After a pause of a minute, with his expressive eye looking through me, he said slowly, "I know what it is to have our youthful ar dour blighted. I adore my profession," he con- tinned, with enthusiasm, " and am always proud' to enlist a gentleman in its ranks:1' my only- reason for hesitation in the matter is, that though I have the whole control here, I am connected with Mr. Hughes, the proprietor of Saddler's- Wells, and he is unwilling to add to our ex penses; but," he continued, carelessly, "I'll manage it. Let me see ; we must try you in PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 10 Shakspeare. Can you get perfect in Ross and Lennox, in Macbeth,, by Thursday ? We make the two parts into one, for want of numbers. Wednesday we wish to do it, if you can get ready — the lines are difficult." " Easily, sir," I replied. " I believe I'm per fect in the whole play." " Well," said he, " that's more than the last gentleman was, even in the parts I speak of, and he has been on the stage these twelve years. As to the teaching, get Mrs. Sandford to place one or two of your beautiful drawings in her shop, and I'll engage she'll obtain you more pu pils than you can attend to, as you cannot possi bly spare more than two or three hours a day from your studies. Now as to the shillings and pence part ofthe business. The highest salary we give is a guinea and a half per week, and I will put your name on the books for one-pound- one. I thought of Horatio's boasted five pounds a week, and I felt, and appeared, astonished, I sup pose. The manager, with disappointment and anger joined in the expression, gave me a severely scrutinizing look ; this increased my embarrass ment, and, with the blood mantling in my face at the horror of his suspecting (after allhis kindness) that the small sum he offered me was the cause of the feeling I displayed, I exclaimed, with en ergy, " You wrong me, sir, indeed you do. I have not the power to give utterance to the high sense I have of your kindness to me ; the sum you name is much more, I am confident, than I can at present earn, and you have wrongly con strued my thoughts if you imagine, for a mo ment, it was that which caused my surprise ; it was my astonishment that Mr. Howard should have gratuitously told, me that he received five pounds." " My dear young friend," said he, stretching across the table to shake me heartily by the hand, " you have much to learn of my profes sion yet. I make it a rule never to name the amount of an actor's salary to anybody, but in this case it is necessary. Mr. Howard receives twenty-five shillings a week, and if his intellect was valued, instead of his utility, he wouldn't obtain five." I expressed my indignation that he should, un asked, have told me such a falsehood. "Oh I he meant no harm," said he, laughing ; " 'tis the fashion or habit of nine actors out of ten to declare their income is at least three times as large as it really is, and their benefits are al ways said by them to be fashionable and over flowing houses; they boast on these points so continually, that they at last actually believe it themselves, and run in debt, generally, in the same proportion." Both apparently well pleased with the termi nation of our negotiation, we parted, with a glass of wine to my success as an actor. What strange animals we poor human beings are ! I had, for two hours or more, felt as if my very existence depended on my obtaining this employment, and I had scarcely let the door close behind me when I felt as if I ought to go back and decline the engagement. A thousand contradictory feelings filled my mind at once. I hurried on, as if to outwalk my own thoughts. I stopped, out of breath, at the corner of a street — looked up at the new moon with the inquiring- gaze of an old acquaintance, but before I had time even to ask advice from that quarter, a cloud, " black like an ousel," hid her from my view. " My conscience, hanging about the neck of my lieart, said very wisely to me," " If you take this step you must resign all hope of your ever regaining your past position." Pride — tevenge — yes, revenge ! — I know no other word nearer to my meaning — and a sort ol " dam'me-if-I-care- for-anything-or-anybody" sensation, carried the point. I went home and read Ross and Len nox from the acting copy, and have been an actor ever since. CHAPTER VIII. " Then to tho well-trod stage anon, If Jonson's learned sock be on ; Or sweetest Shakspeare, fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild." Miitok On the Monday morning I was formally in troduced as a member of the company, and most kindly welcomed by all ; but particularly by the gentleman with whose interests I was most like ly to interfere. This display of indifference by those who are suffering in dread and dismay lest you push them from their stools, is very common in the profession, and generally overdone : they are usually what may be called too d — d affec tionate. In England, they conclude a sort of negative complimentary chat with " Suppose you take your dinner with me ?" supposing they have got one to offer ; and on " this side of the water" they always say, "Let's go and take a drink?" The arrangement of my dress for the twin Scotchmen the manager had promised to attend to ; but the loan of "properties, or anything I have, is perfectly at your service," was itera ted by all. Howard said, " My boy, by — , I'll lend you my blue tights — oh, you re perfectly welcome, I don't wear them till the farce ; Ban- quo's one of my flesh parts — nothing like the na ked truth — I'm h — 1 for nature. By-the-by, you'll often have to wear black smalls and stockings ; I'll put you up to something: save your buying silks, darning, stitch-dropping, louse-ladders, and all that: grease your legs and burned-cork 'em — it looks d — d well ' from the front.' " All my worldly experience had been gathered in a cockpit, the members of which are hetero geneous enough in all conscience, but they have all exactly the same duty to perform, the same pay, same living, same law to abide by, and, generally speaking, are of about the same grade in the scale of society, even before the service has levelled all distinctions. Judge, then, how incapable I was of understanding or apprecia ting the eccentric and contradictory habits and manners of my new allies. The quantity of materials thought necessary by the three witch es in Macbeth to "make the gruel thick and slab," are not more opposite and various in their compound than the origin and character of the " Ladies and Gentlemen" attached to the theatri cal profession. " There lies the villany :" if there could be instituted a college— a school — an ordeal of any kind to be passed before man or woman were admitted to be an actor or actress, the Drama, blazing in its own brightness, would be honoured and respected. 'Tis true, many have risen from the lowest dregs of society to the topmost pinnacle of theatrical ambition — Mrs. Abington and Kean may be named as ex traordinary instances — but how manv remain floundering in their original mire, sullying the fair fame of those deserving moral estimation ! 20 THIRTY YEARS The world never thinks of drawing a distinc tion; and, indeed, by what rule could it make one ? We don't stop a man in the street with a muddy coat to ascertain if he had soiled it by help ing some blackguard out of a gutter, but con tent ourselves with thinking he's a dirty fellow. The kindness of the manager, and the preju diced indulgence of the audience, made me a fa vourite with both. Sandford's prediction was verified as to the teaching, and 1 was in the re ceipt of a handsome income immediately. I charged a high price, and -undertook to instruct those only who had already gained some profi ciency in the art, with one exception. I did teach one " young idea"— a lovely girl of about fifteen, a step-daughter Of Major Watwyns— a Jewess-like divinity. Is there a style of beauty on earth that can compare wilh the Ori ental, poetic loveliness of those chosen females when they are young? But then, they will get married, and make it a rule to "increase and multiply," which undoubtedly makes them more interesting as wives and mothers, but it spoils the poetry. There are, to be sure, exceptions, and the lady I allude to is one of them. " How long hath Chronon wooed in vain To spoil that cheek !" A few years since I had the pleasure of being again introduced to my charming pupil, at Cin cinnati. She is the wife of a merchant there, has a large family, and is as handsome as ever. Incledon, " the inspired idiot," was the first star I ever played with. He has helped, most inno cently, to make so many books, that in his case " the wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees is left (for me) to brag of;" so let him rest with the " sainted Jane and Mary." Munden, who had been underlined for a week, arrived at last ; the company were engaged in the rehearsal of the "Road to Ruin," he having written from Exeter to desire that he might be ad vertised for Old Dornton and Crack for that night; and his nonappearance at the. time he sta ted had caused some uneasiness; he was fol lowed by a porter with a large trunk. After cor dially greeting the manager and the members of the company, with whom he was before ac quainted, he said, " Sandford, my dear boy, lend me sixpence." And (in a voice, oh, how rich — rich is a mean phrase to convey an idea of its round, articulate, expressive power) he contin ued: " I have had my wardrobe brought to the the atre ; it saves trouble, and the expense of little boys bothering you for a penny a piece to carry a bundle. You left the other trunk at my lodg ings, my good man ?" "Yes, sir," said the porter, shaking into the crown of his hat a tattered handkerchief, with which he had just removed . the sweat of his brow. "Here's a shilling, Mr. Munden," said Sand ford ; "I haven't a sixpence." " Have you the change, my man ?" inquired the great comedian. " Have I change for what, sir?" said the por ter. " For the shilling, my dear boy," replied Munden. "And is it' less than a shilling that a gentle man like you would be offering a poor devil like, myself for wheeling two* big boxes nearly a mile ? Sure the law allows sixpence a parcel, if it's onlv as big as your fist." The law might have been argued, according to the statute in that case made and provided, till Munden had made the fellow laugh himselt out of his pay altogether, had not Sandford sent the man off with a shilling, and requested the great actor to go on with the rehearsal. " We have waited two hours for you already ; your letter stated you would be here last night," said the manager. " And so I should ; but I couldn't come without wheels," replied the comedian ; " the stage broke down just as we got to Ivy Bridge, on purpose, no doubt, that the robbers might pil lage me at the hotel there; the bloodsuckers took every shilling I had for bed and board, and bit me to death with fleas into the bargain. I had but threepence left when I made my escape from them this morning; I offered them to the guard, after he had collected my baggage, and he told me to keep it, sir! theimpudent scoundrel told me to keep it, and so flfiid," he continued, with a laugh worth the whole stage fare from London to Plymouth, "and treated myself to a pint of porter, and the odd ha' penny I gave to Roache's children to buy lollipops — to buy lolli pops, sir, and bull's eyes ; I stopped there on my way, to let them know I had arrived, and see if my*room was ready." This said Roache was an old friend of Mun- den's, and it is highly probable he had the room without charge. He kept a circulating-library, of dirty, worn-out books, quack-medicines, job- printing, and children's toy kind of shop. The same man had exactly the same sort of estab lishment, a few years since, at the corner of Frederic and Market-streets, Baltimore, where he died; the members of hi* large family, who shared Munden's lollipop, are now all engaged in increasing the population of different parts of the Union. "Sandford, it will only be necessary to go through my scenes^who's the Harry Dornton 1" 1 was introduced. Surveying me from head to foot with a serio-comic look from such an eye ! setting at defiance description, and the shade of enormous shaggy eyebrows, one of which would be, amply sufficient to make two pair, even for Billy Wood.* ¦ "Are you perfect, sir, in the words?" said Munden. " Quite, sir," I confidently replied. " You will find Mr. Cowell," said the mana ger, " though a young actor, very attentive to any business you may instruct him in, when ex plained to him in the manner you are so well aware a gentleman expects." Probably the hint was superfluous, for I ever received from that great actor the most marked attention. The day was so far advanced that * William B. Wood, Esq., formerly manager, and still a member, ofthe Chestnut-street Theatre, Philadelphia, has remarkably long eyebrows, amounting to a deformity ; but of which nature has very kindly made him excessively proud; this amiable weakness, as well as his passion for speaking " an infinite deal of nothing," is notorious among his friends ; and 'tis said " once upon a time," finding him self a stranger on a steamboat, and in vain ndeavouring to get into a "fine weather" conversation with a gentleman whose acquaintance he was anxious to make, after failing in several efforts to get a " talk," at length abruptly ac costed him with, " I beg your pardon, sir, but by — , sir, this is a perfect natural curiosity— a genuine N. K. I pledge you my honour, sir, I just pulled this extraordinary hail out of my eyebrow," holding his hands up to the light, about five inches apart. He carried his point, aud had a most delicious hairy discussion on the merits of that orna ment, or inconvenience to the human form divine, from th« crown ofthe head to the first joint of the great toe. PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 21 we couldn't repeat our rehearsal, and he invited me to take a chop with him at his lodgings, and after dinner go over the scenes we were together in ; which, for the sake of such instruction, I readily agreed to — it was literally a chop; we had one a piece, and a single sole between us (a very delicate flat fish about the size ofthe sole of your boot, both cheap and plentiful at Ply mouth), and a pint of porter, of which I declined partaking, apparently to his great satisfaction. The whole dinner, which he praised both as to quantity and quality, he explained to me with great glee, " Had only cost a shilling: sixpence lor the chops, three ha'pence for the fish, and the remainder for the bread, potatoes, and porter." The extreme parsimony of this most delicious actor induced every one to believe he was enor mously rich, but at his death his fortune was proved much below the general calculation. Even his meanness was smothered in fun. He once told me^n the Drury Lane Green-room, very seriously, that he had that morning adver tised his grounds for rent, and discharged his gar dener, because he had met a girl crying radishes " at three bunches a penny !" On asking a lady for the loan of an umbrella one wet day, she re torted, " Why, Mr. Munden, why don't you buy one ? you are rich enough." "My dear, I've got a bran new one at home, I've had these two years." " Then why don't you use it, sir?" " My dear child, if I brought it out it would be sure to rain, and I should get it wet and spoil the beauty of it." Till the hour of going to the theatre we went over the scenes again and again; my willing ness to receive instruction appeared to give him great satisfaction, and he prophesied a glorious reward for my perseverance, and in stanced himself as a proof of the consequence : who could doubt he practised what he preached, when, in defiance of the labour before him for the night, and the fatigue of a journey, he, with all the enthusiasm of youth, for hours directed the support he required in his great character, which he had then played probably two hundred times ? He was, in my opinion, the best comedian I ever saw. He identified himself with a charac ter, and never lost sight of it — his pathos went to the heart at once, and his humour was irre sistible. In his latter years he was accused of sacrificing too much for the sake of gaining applause-, but I believe he endeavoured to alter his pure and natural style to suit the declining taste of his auditors, and compete with the car icaturists by whom he was surrounded. In playing Ralph to his Old Brumagem, at Drury Lane. I objected to some business he pointed out, as being unnatural. " Unnatural !" said he, with a sneer : " that has been my mistake for years. Nature be d — ; make the people laugh." But he's gone ! and if there is any fun in the next world, he's in the midst of it. " Sic transit gloria Munden." By great industry I rapidly improved, and be fore the close of the season I had become a very •useful performer at any rate. My connexion as an artist was of great service to me at my bene fits, and I had two really " overflowing houses ;" the' last, " By desire of the officers of his majes ty's ship York," nearly the whole of the crew, with the band at their head and the marines bringing up the rear, marched to the theatre, I crowding the pit and upper portion of the house. The play was the Iron Chest, which I had se lected for the sake of acting " Wilford," to per form which character I had been sighing all the season ; but Moore, the comedian who was to play Sampson, thought proper to be taken ill at four o'clock in " the posteriors of the day," as Shakspeare hath it, and Sandford urged me to undertake the part, as the best apology to offer to my friends instead of this general favourite. Laughter and applause, no doubt, much more than I deserved, rewarded my first effort in low comedy; and all declared it was the line of busi ness in which I was destined to excel; and I thought so too; but for the next six months I had engaged for the amiable and interesting, at fifteen shillings per week, at the Theatre Royal, Plymouth, so that my comical propensities had to do penance for that period, at-any rate. During the performance that evening, a re quest was made by an officer that one of the crew, who had written a comic song, might be permitted to sing it, which was readily granted ; and between the acts a fine black-whiskered, six- feet-high fellow made his appearance, amid the cheers of his shipmates, and sung at least fifteen verses, each ending with a ToU-hU-de-iddy-tiddy- toU-loll-lolL The composition consisted of a long string of sailor's wit at the expense, of Poll, and Sue, and Jack, and Ben, and so on, which ap peared to be greatly relished by those who under stood the joke. At length he came to a pause — looked embarrassed — hitched up his trousers — turned his quid — scratched his head — and said, " Shipmates, you know there's two more verses, but they are not fit to sing before the ladies ; they are rather b— . Toll-loll-de-iddy-tiddy-toll-loll- loll," and away he went. Either as a tribute to his modesty, or in the hope of hearing the other two verses, he received a general Encore ! from all parts of the house; but at the same place he stopped again, made his bow, and said, " You know I told you why I left; off here be fore," and quitted the stage amid shouts of laughter. CHAPTER IX. " Meantime. I would not always dread the bowl, Nor every trespass shun. The feverish strife, Roused by the rare. debauch, subdues, expels The loitering crudities that burden life ; And like a torrent, full and rapid, clears Th' obstructed tubes. Besides, this restless world Is full of chances, which hy habit's power. To learn to bear is easier than to shun." Armstrong's Art of Preserving Health. The borough-town of Plymouth is about two miles, from Dock, and literally connected with that:(then) densely-populated depository for sail ors and soldiers of every grade, from admirals and generals down to the after-guard and awk ward squad ; marines, ma-tes, Jew pedlers, pick pockets, blackguards, and bum-boat women, and other ladies with a claim to only half the title, by a long lane with no turning, called " Stone- house," on either side of which, leaving room for a barracks on the right, was then a row of small houses whose inhabitants were notoriously of the feminine gender. For the information of the curious in topographical knowledge, I must state, that Dock can now boast of a mayor and corporation, and the name of Devenport, but in my day its fame emanated from " The armaments which thunder-strike the walls Of rock-built cities, bidding nation's' quake. 22 THIRTY YEARS And monarchs tremble in their capitals ; The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make Their clay creator, the vain title take Of lord of thee {the ocean) and arbiter of war." ' The Plymouth Theatre, at Frankfort Gate, by courtesy called Royal, because the Duke of Clarence had once entered it, probably without paying for his ticket, was then conducted by Mr. Foot, in connexion with Mr. Percy Farren, of the Dublin Theatre, whom I never saw. His son, George Percy Farren, is now in this coun try, and in the same cast of characters, I think quite equal to his uncle of the London theatres. Foot had been a captain in the army, and look ed like a gentleman of the roue school. Talking of looks, he had one real eye for service, and an other, of glass, for show ; if he got gouged in love or war I never learned, but a side glance conveyed the most irresistibly comical kind of squint ever invented by art or nature. His man ners were agreeable, and what is falsely called gentlemanly, but his mind was most depraved ; all moral obligations he set at defiance, and his charming daughter, innocent and young, was even then in training, by her father, for the life of splendid infamy in which she moved for years, with pity's finger pointing at her fallen state. Poor Maria ! A few days before I left England I met her with a servant following in Colonel Berkley's livery : " She was beautiful, and if ever I ielt the full force of an honest heartache, it was the moment I saw her." As I before observed, my teaching put me in possession of a handsome income; I therefore readily entered into a bond with Foot to receive only fifteen shillings per week, and play nothing but good parts ; thereby curtailing my utility as an actor, and increasing my leisure. The salary for each performer was put up weekly by the treasurer, sealed and directed, and handed round to the company, during the re hearsal, by Mrs. Foot. After I had been in this employ a short time, I had (in consequence of not being wanted at the theatre during this show er of gold) allowed my pay to accumulate for five or six weeks ; but one day, after making my bow to the lady of the house, and putting my little arrears in my pocket, was walking off, when Mrs. Foot stopped me, in evident embar rassment, and said, "Mr. Cowell, I have made a mistake; be kind enough to let me have that money again." I immediately restored to her (as I then thought) the whole of the packets ; in a few minutes, the call-boy handed me (as I supposed) the amount due, in one parcel ; but, on gaining my lodgings, I discovered 1 had unknowingly retained one of the little billets she at first gave me, directed and dated two or three weeks gone by, and containing, to my astonishment, twejfty- five shillings, and the larger one the whole ofHhe balance due me, for the time, at the rate of fif teen shillings per week. In the evening I called on the treasurer and explained the circumstance, and presented him with the five-and-twenty shil ling parcel I had unintentionally retained ; he to my disgust assured me that my salary had been always charged on the books at one pound five ; that he had regularly enclosed me that amount, and such was the sum named as paid to me on the balance-sheet, copied by him every week and sent to Percy Farren at Dublin. I kept my own counsel ; played, when I did play, very good parts, and got the twenty-five sealed up every Saturday. Once Foot said, " Cowell, you're a queer fellow; you have never taken any notice of my raising your sal ary." "Yes, I am rather queer," I replied, with a laugh. He gave me a look with his real eye over his nose, right through the glass one, and walked away. " What do you smile for in that satirical man ner ?" has been often asked of me, after listening to an eulogium on "dear Mrs. Foot being so kind as to save one the trouble of going to the treasury, and handing one one's salary in such a ladylike manner." The Dock Theatre closed on a Saturday night, and Plymouth opened on the Monday fol lowing, with the comedy of the " Heir at Law," as best calculated to display the strength of the company, and I was cast the good part of Henry Moreland ; but, on the Sunday intervening, Sandford gave a dinner to Foot, my manager that was to be, Vandenhoff, Moore, D'Arcey, and myself, and a few private friends. Though a very retiring, business-like man in his mode of conducting his professional duties, he was a bon-vivant, in the fullest sense of the word, in his own house. Wine of the best was passed rapidly round ; speeches were attempted till we were all speechless ; songs were sung till we couldn't remember the first line; and the mana ger's, our own, and everybody's health drunk, till we were too ','far gone" to swallow. My Scotch friend D'Arcey, well seasoned with usque baugh in the Highlands, and myself, were the last to retire. I make it a rule, up to the present hour, to be last at a feast, whatever I am at a fray. D'Arcey couldn't remember the beginning of Burns's ballad, but all he could recollect I as sisted him in singing : " We are na' fu', we're na that fu', Only a wee drap in our e'e," and that's all I do recollect of the matter, but was told I was found, long after daylight the next morning, seated on a turned-up washtub, drinking gin with a dozen damp women em ployed in washing sheets and table-linen in Gen eral Nelson's coach-house. I went to bed in stead of the rehearsal, and sent the plain state of the case to the manager, and Polly Lambert, as he was most appropriately called by the gods, for he was a very ladylike man, played the part. I, of course, concluded I had forfeited my en gagement, and I think it more than probable I should, but for the wCekly profit I was destirjed to prove to the " wide-awake" partner, while the other was sleeping at Dublin. The second morning, while sipping chicken- broth and reading " Taylor on Drunkenness" — by-the-by, a more philosophical and physiologi cal work than any temperance pamphlet pro-.- duced for five-and-twenty years — I received (f pleasant note from Foot, and the next morning I went to the theatre. He appeared to think it an excellent joke. " I know my friend George of old," said my new manager; "he's a d — high fellow in his own house ; a regular Charles Surface, though demure as a Joseph in his business. By , I think you got off very well ; I knew the con sequences, and made my escape about ten o'clock, for the d — rascal laid me up for a week once, and, by , I'm called an honest foUr-bottle man." The company was more efficient than the first I was associated with, the best portion ot which had been selected, and several of consid- PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 23 ¦erable talent added to the list, among whom was my friend Barnes, even then called " Old Jack," and "Old Barney," and he admired the title then, for so he used to designate himself in his benefit-bills ; but now, when he has an hon est claim to that venerable appellation, he don't .apply it to himself, nor appear quite so well pleased at being named so by others. His ami able wife, in addition to her well-known talent, was then the most sylphlike, beautiful little -creature in existence. Ye gods I how awfully I was in love with her ! Platonically, of course, 1 imagined then ; but, in thinking over the events of that period, I confess I recollect catching my self accusing Anna of being a little too tall. Byron had not then made his Don Juan ex cuse for inconstancy, but I was very much of .the same opinion at that time, in prose, that " That which Men call inconstancy is nothing more Than adoration ; due where nature's rich Profusion with young beauty covers o'eT Some favoured object ; and, as in the niche, A lovely statue we almost adore, This sort of adoration of the real Is but a heightening of the beau ideal." But, then, more than once I remember wish ing most earnestly that my friend Jack was di vorced, or dead, and decently buried — but it's all over now. What an abominable contrivance this .getting old is ! Young Betty, the Roscius that had been, was •our first star. He was of my age, within a month one way or the other ; a great, lubberly, overgrown, fat-voiced, good-tempered fellow, with very little talent, and just tolerated as a man by those who were ashamed to confess they were deceived in thinking him a divinity when a boy. „ I have seen many infant phenomena in the •course of my theatrical career, and witnessed the "drillings and trainings;" and if the humane Martin had known as much as I do, he would lave included these little prodigies in his act ¦" for the suppression of cruelty to animals." I once had a conversation with a fellow who •exhibited a learned dog at the Adelphi Theatre, and he assured me that he had found, from ex perience, that the description of animal best fitted lor his purpose was, as he expressed it, "A cur .that's not good for nothing else in the whole world ;""and the poor beast I saw playing cards and casting accounts fully came up in appear ance to his idea ofthe necessary requisites: even Burns's " Tanted tyke, tho' e'er sae duddie," had -some fun in his composition, but the pitiable wretch I saw " get all the applause" did not de serve even to be called a dog — a long-backed, *hort-legged, sleek-haired, ungentlemanly-look- ing thingf,went slouching round a circle with his stupid-looking eyes half closed, and his tail be tween his legs ; had he been a calculating boy, •he would have done precisely the same, only, for She want of a tail, he would have had his hands in his breeches pockets. Astonishing animals and astonishing children are schooled in exactly the same way — extreme and continual rewards and punishments — raw beef and a whip for the. one, and sugar-plums and a rod-in-pickle for|he other. It cannot be denied that there are .rriany ¦instances of precocious genius, both, in the theatri cal world and out of it, andTr such favoured creatures were left solely to nature, they would be always pleasing, though never astonishing in alter life ; talent and time must walk hand in land to iorm .the clever man. But should a child unfortunately " sing a little song," or imi tate some caricature actor, God help the little creature! especially if the parent be a player; and I have generally found these scions are of some " stick," not fit, as Garrick coarsely said, " to carry guts to a bear :" they are instantly taught to play on the pianoforte, and the drum, and the fiddle, and the flageolet, and jig about at the same time (as Ellen Tree's sister used to do), and fencing, and dancing, and everything but reading and writing, till their poor susceptible little brains are so overwhelmed with the mass of knowledge crammed into their little box, that no wonder they sink under the weight of their own pressure; and if they live long enough, prove to be extremely stupid men and women. So as some bud which nature in a freak bids to peep forth before its usual time, if forced and nurtured by artificial means, soon sickens, droops, and withers, and in the excess of its own luxuriance, dies, and is forgotten; but if left in the care alone of Him who made it, it would have bloomed its bright and brief career, and its sweetness would be remembered and regretted. It is necessary to state that about this period I got married by accident — but not to Anna. CHAPTER X. " How changed since last her speaking eye Glanced gladness round the glittering room Where high-bom men were proud to wait- Where beauty watch'd to imitate Her gentle voice — her lovely mien — And gather from her air and gait The graces of its queen ! Now — what is she 1" Pabisina Charles Young succeeded Betty; a delicious change; equal to a squeeze of lemon after a dose of jalap — a perfect gentleman and most amiable man. I have often heard him called an imita tor of Kemble, but I never saw any resem blance ; it is true, his good sense made him be lieve he had not the genius to soar above his great coadjutor, and he prudently contented him self to adopt his conceptions ; if you saw Kemble in Hamlet one night, and Young the next, you would discover no beauties stepped over, and nc new ones displayed; but all that Kemble had done for the character would be done by Young, twenty-four hours after him, in every sense of the expression. During his sojourn at Ply mouth, he played several characters to prepare himself to sustain them at Covent Garden, among them Richard and Sir Giles Overreach ; of course he was worse than Kemble was in both of them, and I don't know if he ever attempted their mur der in London. For the sake of comparison, 1 presume, soon after Young departed, Foot played the Stranger. I was Francis ; and a very bad actor, but a tal ented, eccentric man, of the name of Reymes, the Tobias. The house was very thinly attend ed, and on such occasions actors in country theatres are very likely to try more to please one another than the audience. i jpp Nay, should I lose my son, still I should not wish to die. Here is the hut where I was born. Here is the tree that grew with me ; and— I am almost ashamed to confess it — I have a dog- which I love," he should have said ; instead of which, he substituted, " a duck I love." This unexpected alteration, of course, made me laugh. " Smile if you please," he continued, with per- 24 THIRTY YEARS feet gravity, "but hear me. My benefactress once came to my hut herself. The poor bird, unused to seethe form of elegance enter the door of penury, quacked at her. ' I wonder you keep that waddling, ugly fowl, Mr. Tobias,' said she'. ' Ah, madam,' I replied, ' if I part with my duck, are you sure that anything else will love me?' She was pleased with my answer:" He was excellent company, and being very fond of a ramble in the country, would frequent ly attend me in my sketching expeditions. I was employed one day in making a drawing of Stoke' Church — strange, too, that I should desire a like ness of that matrimonial manufactory, for it was there I was bound'in the holy ties of wedlock; but it was very picturesque and pleasing on pa per, for all that. Several times I was disturbed in my occupation, to look round to inquire' the cause of a crash,; every now and then, like the breaking of glass; and at length I caught a glimpse of Reymes, slyly jerking a pebble, uttd^r his: arm, through one of the windows. I recol lected twice, in walking home with him', late at night, from the theatre, his' quietly taking a brick bat from out of his coat-pocket and deliberately smashing- it through the casement ofthe Town Hall, and walking. on and continuing his con versation as if nothing had happened.. Crack! again. I began to suspect an aberration of in tellect, and said, " Reymes-, for heaven's sake what are you doing ?"! " Showing my gratitude," said he ; and crack ! went another. " Showing the devil !'" said I ; , "you're break ing the church windows." "Why, I know it — certainly; what do you stare at?" said the eccentric. "I broke nearly every pane three weeks ago — I couldn't hit them all. After you have broken a good many, the stones are apt to go through the holes you've already made. They only finished mending them the day before yesterday; I came out and asked the men when they were likely to get done ;" and clatter ! clatter ! went another: "That's excellent 1" said he, in great glee. "I hit the frame just in the right place; I knock ed out two large ones that time." " Reymes," said I, with temper, "if you don't desist, I must leave off my drawing." "Well," said he, " only this one," and crack! it went ; " there ! I've done. Since if annoys you, I'll come by myself to-morrow and finish the job; it's the only means in my, power of pro ving my gratitude." ' " Pfovingyour folly," said I. "Why, Reymes, you must be out of your senses."' " Why, did I never tell you ?" said he. " Oh ! then, I don't wonder at your surprise. I thought I had told you. I had an uncle, a glazier; who died, and left me twenty pounds, and this mourn ing-ring'; and I therefore have made it a rule to break the windows of all public places ever since. The loss is not wortn speaking of to the parish, and puts a nice bit of money in the pock et of some poor dealer in putty, with probably a large family to support. And now I've explain ed, I presume you have no objection to my pro ceeding in paying what I consider a debt of grat itude due to my dead uncle." " Hold ! Reymes," said I, as he was picking up a pebble. " How do you know but the poor fellow with the large family may not undertake to repair the windows by contract,, at so much a year or month?" "Eh! egad, I never thought of that," said the- whimsical, good-hearted creature. " I'll suspend operations until I've made' the inquiry, and if" I ve wronged him- I'll make amends." Being acceptable to the audience, and a very youthful appearance, the manager was induced' to cast me for George Barnwell, "though, heav en knows, against my own inclining;" for I nev er had a particle of sentimental tragedy in my composition. On reading the character, I was disgusted' with the " fool, as well as villain."' My whole life had been passed in the unrestrain ed society of young men, but I never met any thing like a George Barnwell in any mess I ever- belonged to; and I felt my incapacity to invent the delineation of a character I did not believe ever existed in nature; and I entreated Foot trJ* take me out of the part. But my objections ap- E eared to him extremely comical ; no prayers I ad '! wit enough to make" could move him, and he persisted, I believe for the sake of the joke,, that I should, perform the character. As usual,. I had waited till the last hour to swallow the bit ter morsel, and on the day it was to be perform ed, I was fuming and fretting up and down the- room, endeavouring to get the mawkish lan guage into my head, when an old messmate, an assistant-surgeon, whom I had not seen for two« years, paid me a visit. I excused myself from attempting to entertain him, by explaining the-" torture I was enduring. "Why don't you send word you're ill?" said: the doctor. ." Why, my dear fellow," said I, " I have made- so many objections, that Foot would suspect at once that Iwas hoaxing him, and be here on the- instant." "Give me a pen and ink," said my old com panion. " I've saved many a good fellow from. disagreeable duty in the same way — there — send that, and a shilling, to an apothecary, and let me know about half an hour before you want to--, be very sick, and I'll make you so, without do-; jng you any harm ; go myself as your physiciani to Foot,, as you call him — bring him here to be- cbnvineedof the dangerous state you are in — lay it all to excessive anxiety of mind, and make- him believe you Won't live the night out. So- throw away the book, and let's have a glass of grog together. I met Spencer, and he told me- who you were, and where to find you." The plan succeeded to admiration, and, thank: Heaven, Ihave never played, or read, that worse- than an emetic since. Wilson the rope-dancer, long since forgotten: by most thinking beings, was then all the rage p. crowding his own pockets and the houses wher ever he went; but, in my opinion, he was very- inferior to John Cline, now in this country, and christened in German, very appropriately,- "the- little gentleman rope-dancer," by Charles Gilfert,. who took out the first patent for theatrical hum- buggery in the United States. At about this period the British government took it into their heads that the Duke of Clar ence — having, as it was supposed, in all proba bility, sowed his wild oats, should take unto himself a lawfully- wedded wife, leave off break ing the ninth commandment, and use his roy al highness's best efforts to produce an heir to the throne in the event of its ever com ing to his turn to supply such a deficiency^ Whether the, novelty of the thing tickled the-' old gentleman's vanity, or if "just for a bit ot fun," as the boys say, he consented to the oner- PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 35- ation, I know not; but he did, and thrust forth from his protection the mother of his children; to earn a living, for her few remaining days, by the reputation of her transcendent talent, the ex ercise of which, in its zenith, had literally sup ported him in luxury for years. She might well exclaim, with the creator ot her own Rosalind, " My way of life Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf: And that which should accompany old age, As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have." And with probably just such feelings, slaking former fire, the great Mrs. Jordan arrived at Plymouth, to play a round of characters. She opened in the " Widow Cheerby ;" I was the " Chanes Woodly." "Can you lau6h, Mr. Cowell?" said Thalia herself, " I used to laugh very naturally once ; and to laugh well is of great importance, even to a tragedian." " Upon my life, madam, I do not know what I can do," I replied; "I have only been on the stage five months." " Then you are a very promising young man, and your good sense will make you think you don't know what you can do when you have been upon the stage five hundred years." I laughed. " Oh, I see you can be merry/' con tinued this Momus in petticoats — perhaps with an aching heart. " The effect of this scene de pends entirely upon you ; keep it up, no matter where you are, and, scarcely, what you say ; but be most joyous; I want the whole scene to go well while I'm upon the stage ; I don't wish the foolish people in front to praise Mrs. Jordan only; I want them to be intoxicated with the general effect ; but don't go so far forward — act between the second entrances." Munden, a short time before, had particularly desired me to get close to the footlights ; but it was very easy to account for the contradiction in the instructions of these great artists. The fact is, she was getting old; dimples turn to crinkles after long use ; besides, she wore a wig glued on ; and, in the heat of acting — for she was always in earnest — I have seen some of the tenacious compound with which it was secured trickle down a wrinkle behind her ear ; her per son, too, was extremely round and large, though still retaining something of the outline of its for mer grace ; " And, after all, 'twould puzzle to say where It would not spoil a charm to pare." There is no calamity in the catalogue of the ills " that flesh is heir to" so horrible as the ap proach of old age to an actor. I must beg it to be clearly understood, 1 am not speaking from my own experience in this matter. In the line of business T profess, a few gray hairs some times saves a wig ; and a wrinkle or so super sedes the trouble of marking the face, which I was obliged to do for many years, till lately ; but juvenile tragedy, light comedy, and walking gen tlemen with little pot-bellies, and have-been pretty women, are really to be pitied. Fancy a lady; who has had quires of sonnets made to her eye brow, being obliged, at last, to black it, play at the back ofthe stage at night, sit with herback to the window in a shady part of the green-room in the morning, and keep on her bonnet unless she can afford a very natural wig; As long ago as Garrick's time, Churchill tells usj " All actors, too, upon the back should bear Certificate of birth— time when— place where-. For how can critics rightly fix their worth, Unless they know the minute of their birth* An audience, too, deceived, may find too late That they have olapp'd an actor out of date." And in the United States, at the present day, the very same feeling exists to a nicety. In every city on the Continent — for I have visited nearly all of them— you will meet some half dozen or more Paul Pryish old bachelors to inquire of you, ."How old is Fanny Drake?" or, "How- old is Fanny Kemble 1 or Fanny Jarnian ? or Fanny Fitzwilliam ? or Fanny Hill ?" And just now they were all full cry to discover the birth day of Fanny Ellsler. Ellen Tree had scarcely made the usual theatrical tour before dates were collected in circumstantial evidence. I played; with her during an engagement in Baltimore, and was cross-examined on the subject by Col. Jack Thomas, and other amateurs in such mat ters, but / didn't tell. ' In this country, too, particularly, " The eye must be fed."" ' A fine-loolcing young man and a beautiful girl can get an excellent living on the stage by such material alone ; but when they begin to get old, .God help them ! • Always an adorer of genius in any shape, I worshipped Mrs. Jordan. Her encouragement fired my ambition, and her advice and example I adopted as my creed. Sandford made up a company to play with her at Exeter, and she in sisted that I should be one of the party. I felt flattered by her good opinion, and gave up my leaching for the honour, and received a compen sation for the loss of my benefit at Plymouth ins an increased salary, of whieh she paid the half. Sandford, she declared, "was like an old horse;. Would neither go with begging nor beating."" The fact is, he had a style of his own, and was- too old to bear dictation or alter his manner. I was young, and would do as she bid me, as well as I could, and therefore was selected to play all the off-parts to her that it was possible for me to undertake ; among others, Beverly, in All in> the Wrong, to her Belinda. All the principal actresses that I know of always choose to play- Lady Restless in preference; but when Mrs.. Jordan was the Belinda, you would not remem ber, at the end of the comedy, that Lady Restless- was even in the piece. Her Nell, in the Devil'^ to Pay, was a huge lump of nature throughout- Her making the bed, smoothing it down, admi ring the quality of the linen, and the simple ex pression, " I've often heard of heaven, and this- is it," defies description. I have seen many Job- sons, but I never saw but one Nell. At the close of the Exeter campaign I return ed to Dock, with a better salary, and a share of the low comedy business with Barnes. I was the original Gregory, in the Turn Out, in that company ; the scene being laid at Plymouth, I' thought myself privileged to correct some inac curacies in localities and other matters. Among them, the author speaks of "pickled salmon,"" which is an article scarcely known there : I sub stituted the very popular delicacy, pickled cock les, using the same abbreviation the old women used, to call them about the streets— it was very- effective then. Barnes was Restive ; his wife,. Marian Ramsay; and Vandenhoff, Forage, an, excellent actor in such characters. I saw him,' make his first appearance in London afterward,, at Covent Garden, and it was- either too bad or too good an imitation' of John Kemble for the- public to more than tolerate then : I have not seen him perform since. 86 THIRTY YEARS Barnes was an overwhelming favourite at beth Plymouth and Dock ; he owned some houses in the neighbourhood, and appeared to be settled for life; and; therefore, it was no place for my advancement in the line of business I was de sirous to sustain. Out of a number of applica tions I received three offers. One from Mac- ready, the father of the great actor, at Newcastle- tipon-Tyne ; one from Kelly, Collins, and some body else at Portsmouth ; and one from Beverly, -at Richmond, in Surry, which, being the near- • est to London, I accepted. CHAPTER XI. "But tho' he was o' high degree, The fient a pride nae pride had he : But wad hae spent an hour caressin', Ev'n w' a tinkler gipsy's messin' : At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, Nae tauted tyke, tho' e'er sae duddie, But he wad stan't, as glad to see him, And stroant an stanes, an' hillocks wi' him." Twa Dogs. Sir Lucius O'Trigger boasts of there being *' very snug lying in the Abbey" at Bath ; now, in my day, I can boast of there being very snug dodging in the churchyard of Richmond-upon- Thames ; in a very nice little house, intended, no •doubt, as the parsonage, and most conveniently situated for such a purpose, immediately oppo site the door, " Where sinners enter, and like saints come out — " but be that as it may, there I took. up my quarters, and there my first child was born, now nearly nine years older than his father was then. This circumstance makes the yard interesting to me, while the church must be so to everybody, in consequence of a brass plate in one of the aisles : " To the memory of James Thomson, -author of the Seasons." But all this has nothing to do with theatricals. But if my readers will only imagine this a "long stop," and walk with me through a crowd of ¦cricketers, and " playful children just let loose from school," across the " grassy-vested green," I. will introduce them to William R. Beverley, Esq., manager ofthe Theatre Royal, Richmond. J3f a great lubberly boy of eighteen or nine teen, who was leaning against the stage door, in a long begrimed apron and shirt sleeves, with a pound brush in one hand, and half a pound of .bread and butter in the other, I made my inqui- sries. In addition to his face being very much marked with the smallpox, it was well daubed with blue and yellow paint, and its assumed ex pression of " serious gravity" formed altogether an excellent broad hint for a caricature of Lis- .ton looking through a rainbow. After rubbing his nose against his knuckle, and at the same time the brush against his ear, with an air of importance he directed me to the dwelling part ofthe establishment, where, he told me, I should find his "pa," for it appeared I had been ad dressing Henry Beverlev. the son ofthe proprie tor. His extraordinary likeness to the great comedian I afterward found was notorious, and on which much hope of future fame was predicted, but never was realized. Mr. Beverley met me at the entrance, and I introduced myself. " Oh, you are Mr. Cowell — walk in — take a. seat. Well, my young 'un, what part have you, ever gone on for in Alexander the Great?" said my third manager, in a slang kind of voice, after the manner of a coster,monger or a hackney- coachman, without a hoarseness. " Sir !" said I : " Alexander the Great ! There is nothing in the play in the way of low comedy but Clytus, and I'm not able to play that." " Able or not able, you must play what I want you to play, or I shall not choose to be able to pay you your salary ; but as to Clytus, it's one of my pet parts— I do that myself. Young Betty opens on Monday in Alexander, and I want you for Hephestion." " But, sir, your letter of engagement,' winch I produced, "expressly says that I am to play all the low comedy, save only such characters as you think proper to perform yourself." " Well, that's all very fine, my rVfin— I know all that— but you see I engaged you expressly, as you call it, to supply the place of little Dornton, who was to have gone to the Haymarket, but Coleman, Winston, and Morris have had a b— row, and the little theatre don't open this season, so Dornton keeps his situation. But I'll tell you what I'll do: if you'll agree to make yourself generally useful, I'll give up some of my charac ters, and I play all the best; if not, I can get plenty of young 'uns at the Harp or Finches" (favourite haunts for would-be actors at that time), " and there's no harm done." But there was a great deal of harm done; I had taken a long journey, which I could not re peat, with Mrs. Cowell " in the way that women wish to be who love their lords," and had re fused the other two offers I had received. I therefore very prudently put a good face on the matter, and made my debut in Hephestion, and Ralph in Lock and Key, which the manager gave up for this night only. He was a tall, gaunt-looking man, vulgar, both in appearance and manner — a dirty shirt, open at the neck; worn-out sandals for slippers ; and an old drab greatcoat, his dressing-gown, I suppose. But I was rejoiced to find, upon ac quaintance, that he was a very different human being from what might be imagined from a first impression : he proved to be a kind, open-hearted, honest man; I was in his employ for more than a year, greatly to my advantage ; and we part ed, and continued the best of friends. His circuit consisted of Richmond, Wool wich, and Croyden ; and the villages being all within a few miles of London, the distinguished , members of Covent Garden and Drury Lane were able to pay short and continual visits — we had a " star nearly every night ; in conse quence, all that was required of the stock com pany was utility ; and 1 was the most useful of the party. When I entered the profession, I had determined to succeed, and, therefore, no labour could appal me; I played anything and every thing, from high tragedy to low comedy ; and to the excess and variety of practice I had in that company, I feel myself indebted for all the experience I have put up in one parcel since. I have played Mr. Oakley to Miss Smith's (the successful imitator of Mrs. Siddons, now Mrs. Bartley, if she's alive) Jealous Wife, one night, and Squire Beadle, with Charles Young as Oak ley, another; Caleb Q.uotem to Paddy Webb's Looney ; Captain Beaugard to Matthews as Ca leb, and so on. Beverley used to boast that " The young 'un" — that was his affectionate ti tle for me — "in case of necessity, could go on for Hamlet, from night to night, without missing a line." PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 27 Among the celebrated actors I played with in this company, I remember the following : Mes- dames Glover, Davidson, Edwin, Smith, Kel ly, Matthews, Cubit, and Booth : Messieurs Young, Matthews, Munden, Webb, Elliston, Emery, Sinclair, Incledon, Taylor, Blanchard, Samuel Russell, Dowton, Oxberry, Rae, Betty, Richard Jones, with fifty others, and the ridicu lous "Amateur of Fashion," Romeo Coates. He played six or seven times during the season, .gratuitously, to crowded houses; and, as Bev erley expressed it, "The nasty beast paid the rent." He was like a very ugly monkey in the face, with long, frizzly, black hair, turned up behind, usually with a woman's comb ; but in Romeo it was allowed to take the natural posi tion of a horse's tail, which it resembled, and was decoAted with a large bunch of white rib ands. His wardrobe was ofthe most costly ma terials and ridiculous fashion ; his jewelry was -said to be of great value, and for its protection he was always accompanied by Bishop, the Bow- street officer. I had the misery of playing Mer- cutio, Ensign Dudley, and Horatio to his Ro meo, Belcour, and Lothario. His dying scenes were always encored, and so were many of his speeches, amid shouts of laughter, and he seem- -ed to relish the ridicule heaped upon him quite .as much as the audience. After one of his exhibitions, I performed Ar- taxomines in Bombastes, in imitation of him ¦throughout, and the identity was so great that many wagers were laid that I was really the man. A piece at this time cajled At Home was an rehearsal at Covent Garden, in which Mat thews had a part intended to represent Coates, and the great mimic used to drive to Richmond during its preparation to get me to read the part in the way Coates would be likely to play it. It is notorious that an imitation can be much •easier caught from an imitation than from the original; the very best must partake of carica ture, and the outline, in consequence, is bolder, as a copy is much easier made from a drawing than a drawing is made from nature. The stock company are not worth talking about on *he stage, and off of it I knew nothing of them, with the exception of Klanert, Hughes, and lit tle Bob Keehj. The first was our principal man; he had been for some years at Covent Garden, and his name will be found, in the original cast of " Speed the Plough," as young Handy's ser vant, and in that line of business, I have no doubt, he was excellent. Hughes went to Drury Lane that season, and has been there, with ¦scarcely anybody's knowing it, ever since. Kee- ly was a sort of second prompter, a very talented young man in every way but as an actor then, nor did he give any promise that he could ever become the excellent comedian I am told he now is. He was very successful as a star in this country, a few years since, but I never saw him act. The immortal Kean had this year burst from his obscurity, to dazzle all the world with his transcendent talent. I was most anxious to see this wonder, and the first night I was out of a performance, Keely, who was my sworn friend and companion, walked with me from Wool wich to London, and at about four o'clock in the afternoon we joined a crowd already assembled at the pit entrance of Drury Lane Theatre, which continued to increase by thousands before the doors were opened. Half crushed to death, we found ourselves, after a desperate effort, at the back of the pas sage which surrounds the pit, from whence I could, by straining to my utmost height, catch a glimpse ofthe corner of the green curtain near est to the top, but little Bob hadn't even that sat- isi'aclion. There, at any rate, we could not see Kean, nor live to see anything else at the end of a few hours' squeeze such as we were then en during, and we agreed to pay the extra three and sixpence and go into the boxes ; but as to obtaining a pass check, it was impossible. We had nearly as much trouble to get out as we had to get in, and were content to lose our three and sixpence apiece, and pay fourteen shilling.-, more for the privilege of standing on a back seat of the upper tier of boxes, at the corner next the stage, an excellent point of sight for a perspect ive view of the crown of a man's hat, or a bald spot on a lady's head in the pit, who had been obliged to take off her bonnet whether she liked it or not. "Bruised in body," and "sorely afflicted in spirit" and pocket, we were just in the mood not to be easily pleased with anything or any body. When Kean came on I was astonished. I was prepared to see a small man ; but diminish ed by the unusual distance, and his black dress, and a mental comparison with Kemble's prince ly person, he appeared a perfect pigmy — his voice, unlike any I had ever heard before, per haps from its very strangeness, was most objec tionable — and I turned to Keely, and at once pronounced him a most decided humbug; and, if I could have got out then, I should have said so to everybody, because I honestly thought so; and if, afterward, I had been convinced of his enormous genius, I might, like Taylor, the ocu list, and editor of the Sun newspaper, have per sisted in my denunciation, rather than confess my incapacity, at the first glance, to comprehend the sublimity of Shakspeare and Nature being upon such lamiliar terms. But I was obliged to remain, and compelled to be silent; so invo king patience, and placing my hand on a young lady's shoulder for support, I quietly gazed on through three tedious scenes — for all the aQtors seemed worse than usual — till it came to the di alogue with the Ghost, and at the line " I'll call thee Hamlet— king-; father—" I was converted. I resigned the support of the lady, and employed both hands in paying the usual tribute to godlike talent. Father is not a pretty word to look at, but it is beautiful to hear when lisped by little children, or spoken by Ed mund Kean in Hamlet. In private life Kean was the most contradict ory character I ever met with : affable and over bearing by turns — in either case without suffi cient cause. Lavishly, nay, foolishly liberal, or niggardly mean and suspicious. With a refined taste for music, he would listen attentively, and laugh heartily, at a blackguard's song in a beer house. Devotedly fond of children and animals, he was sometimes brutal in his domestic behav iour. An enthusiastic admirer of flowers, birds, shrubs, and Nature in her simplest garb, he would spend days and weeks in a den of vice and depravity. His chosen associates were se lected from the lowest dregs of society — prize fighters, thief-catchers, and knaves and fools of low degree, " as gross as ignorance made drunk"— though sought after and courted by all the rich and noble in mind or station. When 28 THIRTY YEARS sober, he was elegantly courteous and gentle manlike in his deportment, if he thought proper; but when intoxicated, he was disgustingly coarse, and vulgar in the extreme. Kean had his degrees of drunkenness; accord ing to a calculation made by a faithful servant of his, I think named Miller. This man was devotedly attached to his master — all menials adored him — and if Kean happened to be dining with a party of gentlemen, which he was obliged to do sometimes, Miller— who was as anxious about his conducting himself with propriety as a father could possibly be— when it was getting late, and the servants were ordered to leave the room, would take his station near the door, and, from time to time, make the following inquiries of any of the party who might pass him. " How is master getting on, sir?" " Oh, very well, Miller," would be the prob able reply. " Is he getting— eh ?" says Miller, significantly. " Getting what ?" says the stranger. " Getting tipsy, sir ! if you must have it." " Oh, just a little." "Ah! I thought how it would be," Miller would say, with a sigh. " And he promised me he'd behave himself!" In half an hour he would make another in quiry to the same effect, and receive for answer, "Oh, he's just a little high— glorious company ! He's going to sing us a song." "Going to sing?" says Miller, with anxiety. " What is he going to sing, sir? What's the' name ofthe song?" " ' The Storm.' " " ' The Storm !' Ah ! I see how it is ; if he's going to sing ' The Storm,' he must be getting very drunk." Another half hour would pass, and he would listen at the keyhole, or, perhaps, open the door quietly, and thrust his head into the room, with draw it in an instant, and, shutting the door, turn round with a look of horror, and exclaim, " It's all over ! he's past hope ! he's out of his senses ! he's talking Latin ! And now he's sure to make a damned beast of himself !" CHAPTER XII. _ " The same persons who would overturn a state to estab lish an opinion often very absurd, anathematize • the inno cent amusements necessuTy to a great city, and the arts which contribute to the splendour of a nation.'* — Voltaire. After an unprofitable campaign at Rich mond, the company moved to Craydon, a very small, anti-theatrical town at any time, hut then made more so by a long and severe controversy between two popular preachers, who, having ex hausted their identical rhetoric, and the patience of their congregations, agreed, as a last resource of notoriety, to unite their whole remaining stock of damnation, and hurl it wholesale at> the drama and its humble professors. The effect of this fire and brimstone eloquence, if it may be so called, was to half ruin poor Beverley, and half starve some ten or twelve poor players. " The first and wisest of them all professed To know this only — that he nothing knew. * + *#*•** Alas . wnat can tney teach, and not mislead, Ignorant of themselves, of God much more ; And how the world began, and how man fell, Degraded by himself, on grace dependingl Much of the soul they talk but all awry. And in themselves seek virtue, and to themselves All glory arrogate, to God give none." Thus sung the pious Milton, but our perse cutors used language better suited to convince their feeble-minded flock that Paradise could only be Regained by prostrating the playhouse. After six weeks of patient endurance, we made our retreat to Woolwich. Beverley had no scene- painter employed, and to aid my worthy mana ger, I engaged gratuitously to "gel up, as the phrase is, some showy pieces. At that period of my life I was an enthusiast in anything I un- , dertook. Through the kindness of Mr. Murray,. . of Covent Garden, I obtained an introduction to- Phillips, the then celebrated scenic artist, and gained from him some general instructions as to- the colours, &c., and the privilege of visiting the painting-room. He was of the old school, and though his productions were beautiful specimens- of art, the elaborate finish he bestowed «on them. rather decreased than added to their effect ; and while in the same room, the elder Grieve (who first pointed out the path Stanfield has since trod to fame) was every day splashing into existence a cottage or a cavern, with a pound brush in. each hand; Phillips would sit for hours with a rest-stick and a camel's hair pencil shading the head of a nail. My success in this department of the arts, in the opinion of the kind-hearted. Beverley, was superlative. He said, and I am sure innocently believed, I was " the best scene painter in the kingdom !" and as he was too poor to pay me the price at which he valued my talent,. he^ like an honest, liberal-minded man, recom mended me to Trotter, who had become the lessee- of the Brighton Theatre, and with him I engaged. as actor and painter, at the highest salary I ever got in England, out of London, Harley was the principal comedian, and as I. would not play a secondary part, I appeared less frequently than he did, but shared, equally with him the favour of the audience. He was only a few years old er than myself, but the most parsimonious young man I ever knew. The next season he appear ed with great success at the English Opera House, and has continued a favourite in the metropolis ever since. A weak-minded, wanted- to-be-thought-great actor (he was foolish enough) to drown himself a few years since), of the name of Faulkner, was a member of the company,. He, with a Mr. Anderson, who had got rich in* the employ of Stephen Kemble, as his treasurer, had leased the northern circuit from that good, easy man, and Faulkner, the acting partner, was- recruiting for the establishment. To me, he made an offer to lead the low comedy business, but with a salary ojjless than one half of what I was then receiving, which his persuasion, my own vanity, I called it ambition then, and the flattering prophecy of Mrs. Jordan, induced me to accept; and after due notice, Trotter and I parted, with sincere regret, I believe, on both sides. Faulkner and Anderson's circuit consisted of North and South Shields, in Northumberland,-.; Sunderland, and the city of Durham, in the county of that name; Stockton-upon-Tees, and Scarborough, in Yorkshire. Upon my arrival at the first-named place, I found, to my astonish ment, four low comedians besides myself, en gaged on precisely the same terms as to busi ness. Four to one were great odds, but I dis tanced them all. First, "Lewis;" he got too- drunk to play the first night; and was dischar ged, and for spite, kept the "same old drunk," as the sailor said, for the six weeks we remained in the town, and may not be sober yet, for any- PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 29 "thing 1 know to the contrary, for I have never seen him since. Next, Brown, a brother to John Mills Brown, for many years in this country, but unlike him in talent; he did more good than harm. Then Smith, nicknamed Obi, from his ex cellent pantomime acting in Three-fingered Jack ; but he was a most melancholy low comedian, ¦and couldn't sing. And last, Porteus; he was an elderly, baldheaded gentleman of forty-five, who had made his^Jrsi appearance on any stage a few months before, as a last resource, having failed in a saddler's shop at Liverpool. I had -everything my own way, and was, of course, a great favourite, but the treasurer-manager had so cunningly contrived the terms of the benefits, •that if an actor didn't lose by taking one, which, by his engagement, he was compelled to do, he •thought himself well off. The joumies were long and expensive; I was the father of two splendid children, and only a guinea and a half a week, and my good spirits to feed and clothe them; I never suffered the inconvenience of poverty, while on the stage in England, but du ring the year I was in this company. At Durham I had the happiness to gain the .firm and lasting friendship of the great and good .Stephen Kemble ; he there resided in a beautiful little cottage, a short distance from the city, on the bank of the river. In early life he had mar ried a Miss Satchel!, the daughter of a then celebrated pianoforte maker. She had retired from the profession before my time, but had left a high reputation behind her,. and in parts re quiring simple pathos, was said never to have been excelled; her sister was still on the stage, and married for some years to a distant relation of Mrs. Jordan's, by the name of James Bland ; as actors, they were without talent, but had two fine children, from ten to twelveiyears old. When Stephen Kemble leased his theatre to Faulkner and Anderson, he made a proviso that -they should receive each five-and-twenty ishil- lings per week for the services (such as they were) of themselves and children. The boy made the calls, the pretty little girl " went .on" for one of the Stranger's offspring,, or a Child in the Wood; the. mother played short old ladies; and the father delivered the messages. Thus the claims of Plutus bound them to, a daily in tercourse, though those of Hymen had been broken for years ; the man's dissipation, I ima gine, was the cause of their separation — I be lieve that women are never in the wrong — but. they met and spoke to each other as indifferent per sons would, and 'twas .droll to hear the old gen tleman say, "I must put on my other, shirt to day, for I'm invited to take a friendly cup of tea with the old lady," meaning his wife. His carelessness of character was naturally increas ed by the certainty he had of receiving his sal ary. The theatres, as is usual in all countries, were surrounded by some half dozen taverns, and at one or other Jemmy would wait to be called; for 'twas his boast that.. he had , never been known to be in atheatrea minute before or after he was wanting. He was a great shot, and always dressed in a hunting-coat, with large leather gaiters, and small-clothes; and no mat ter what the costume of the play was, he never changed any part of his apparel but his coat. He was well informed, a ready wit, and of great amiability and simplicity of manners; his company was', therefore, unfortunately, much sought for as a brother sportsman, or a pot com panion. When his services were required on the stage, his son, from long practice, would have him at the wing just in time to slip on a tunic or a jacket, pop a little red on his face, and push him on. He knew every message in every old play that ever was delivered, but the new ones he either would not or could not learn. In the opera of the Devil's Bridge he had to say a couple of lines to the effect that " The Count Belino's escaped from his confinement," instead of which he rushed on and said, " My lord, the Count Belino's taken pris oner." " No, no I" said his son, who was always his prompter. "No, no," echoed Jemmy, "and so they've cut off his head." " Escaped ! escaped !" said the boy. " And so he has made his escape," saia Jem my, amid a roar of laughter. The part of Cates- by, in "Richard III.," he boasted he was "let ter perfect in;" and so he was; but Richard had so impressed on his mind the high impor tance of his being very quick in saying, " The Duke of Buckingham is taken," that he an nounced the joyful tidings two minutes too soon. Again, at the first pause, he popped on his head and stammered out, "My lord, the Duke of Buckingham is taken," and again was pulled back by the tail of his tunic; when the right time actually arrived, he was a little too late, and Richard, foaming with rage, shouted out, "Now, sir?" "The Duke of Buckingham," said Jemmy, very calmly, " is taken now, by God." He was intrusted with the part of the Priest in Hamlet, who really has one very difficult speech, beginning with " Her obsequies have been as far enlarged As we have warranty ;" instead of which, Jemmy substituted, "Her obsequies are as large as we can make 'em ;" and the audience heard no more of the excuse for the omission of the usual forms at the fune ral of the "fair Ophelia." As he "opened an account" at every grog shop in the town, his benefits were always fully, though not very fashionably, attended; he used to call them " a meeting of creditors." His son was a good-tempered, intelligent boy, but show- ,ed little respect or deference for the opinion of his father. Children soon learn to neglect that duty when they see a parent neglecting to respect himself. On a Saturday they usually held a con sultation as to how the five-and-twenty shillings should be disposed of to the best advantange. "Now, John, my boy," the old man would say, " let me see : I owe eight shillings at the sign of the Saddle ; well, that's that," putting the amount on one side ; " well, then I promised to pay part of my score at the Blue Pig — well, say five shillings ; there, I'll stop Mother Pep per's mouth with that. How much does that make, John?" "Why, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen shillings," says the boy , touching his five fingers. "But I mean, you goose, how much have I got left?" " How should I know ?", says John ; " why don't you count it ? you've got the money." " But you ought to know, you young rascal," says the father, with true parental authority; " you ought to know : take thirteen from twenty- five, how many remain? why, twelve, to be 30 THIRTY YEARS sure," counting the balance slyly in his hand ; " that's the way you're neglecting your educa tion, is it? I shall have to talk to your school master." " Yes, you had better talk to him," replies John, " for he told me, yesterday, that unless you let him have a little money, I needn't come to school no more." "Ay, true, my dear, that's true; you mustn't lose your education, at any rate," says the kind old man ; " take him round five shillings after dinner, my dear. I had a pot with him last night, and he agreed if I would let him have that much now, he'd take the rest out in tickets at the Ben, and treat the boys." " I want a pair of shoes, father," says John, taking advantage of the old man's softened mood. " How much will they cost, my boy?" " Why, father," says John. " I can get a capi tal pair for three and sixpence." " You must get them for three shillings, John ; we owe the butcher four, and he must be paid, or we get no beef; there, that ends it," says the poor old fellow, with a self-satisfied air; but his vision of independence was in an instant de stroyed by John's simply saying, "You've forgot the landlady, father." "Yes, that's true, so I have; yes, d — her, she must have her rent, or out we go. John, my dear, I'll tell you how 1MI contrive it. I'll put the Saddle off with four shillings, and open a branch account with the Yew-tree." " Yes, that's all very well," says John, very quietly, " but we owed her sixpence on last week, and she paid for the washing." " Well how much does the washing come to, John ?" " Two and tup'ence," says the boy. " Well, then," argues the old man, " Mother Pepper must be content to take three shillings instead of five." " But then, father, that won't do ; and we want tea." " Who wants tea ? I don't care a d — for tea." "But I do," replies the boy, with provoking calmness. " You want tea ! you'll want bread, you young scoundrel !" shouts Bland, in a rage. "Bread! that's true," exclaims John; "you forgot tbe baker." The old man's schemes to pacify his creditors with the distribuiion of five-and-twenty shillings were all knocked on the'head by the recollection of the baker, and sweeping the money off the table into his breeches pocket, in a passion, he roared ^'it. " They may all go to hell together; I'm damned if I pay any of them." The frequenters ofthe theatre, both at Shields and Sunderland, were of the sort Shakspeare so excellently describes: "Youths that thunder at a playhouse, and fight for bitten apples; that no audience but the tribulation of Tower Hill, or the limbs of Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able to endure." At Durham they were fastidiously refined, and at Scarborough exclusively fashionable; but I was fortunate enough to suit their varied tastes, and was a great favourite everywhere. We had a month to remain at the latter town, when, through the influence of my good friends, Major Tophain, of sporting and dramatic celeb rity, and Siephen Kemble, I received an offer from Fitzgerald, of the York circuit, to lead the comedy, with the highest salary in the company. I, of course, was delighted ; instantly accepted the proposal, and informed my managers of my anxiety to leave at the end of that season ; but no prayers could move them; they insisted on their bond of six weeks' notice, which obliged me to go to Shields for two weeks, and lake a very long journey out of my way to get to Hull, where I was to join the York company. I was very poor, too, and " more proud than poor." " And the worst of it was, the little ones were sickly, And if they'd live or die, the doctor didn't know." Both my children were ill with the measles, which parental anxiety magnified into the small pox: " The dragon now, Which Jenner combats on a cow." The last night arrived. With scarcely enough to pay my stage-fare alone to Shields, broken in spirit, I was bustling through Blaisot, in one of the "Maid and Magpie" translations, for the first and only time — Heave* be praised — when I was informed a gentleman at the stage-door wished to see me. I had two or three creditors in town, very gentlemanly men, but they had kindly promised to wait — for their money, I mean, though not at the stage-door — but at the end of the act a very elegant man handed me a card, on which was engraved Mr. Alston, which he ex plained, understanding I was engaged, he was- about leaying with the porter. On the back ol it was written, in pencil, " Lord Normanby, and a few friends, will be happy to see Mr. Cowell, at supper this evening." I was not in the hu mour to make myself agreeable to Lord any body, but politely declined the honour, and sta ted, as a reason, the indisposition of my children, and the necessity of leaving town in a couple of hours, in the mail-stage, for Shields. Before the conclusion of the performance I received a pack et, which I found contained fifty one-guinea notes, with the following epistle : " Messrs. W. T. Denison, Mr. Alston, and Lord Normanby, great admirers of Mr. Co well's comic powers, beg he will accept the enclosed as their contribution to his benefit, which they were unable to attend ; any influence they may- possess he may freely command. They wisn- him every success in a profession of which he is already so great an ornament." I paid off my four or five pounds' worth of debts in the morning ; wrapped my dear children in blankets ; hired a postchaise ; played out my two weeks at Shields ; and, in high spirits, start ed for York, as the theatrical phrase then was, the stepping-stone to London. CHAPTER XIII. " I do remember him at Clement's Inn, like a man made after supper of a cheese-paring ; when he was naked he was, for all the world, like p. forked radish, with a head fantastically carved upon it with a knife : he was so forlorn, that his dimensions, to any_ thick sight, were invisible : he was the very genius of famine ; and now is this vice's dag ger become a Bquire." — Henry IV. , part ii. The York circuit, under the long and able management of the eccentric Tate Wilkinson, had for years held the first rank, next to London, in theatrical estimation. In this school the tal ent of a Siddons, Jordan, Kemble, Emery, Knight, Matthews, and a host of other celebra ted actors, had been matured ; but, at the time I speak of, it had fallen from its high estate, though PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 31 it still maintained a feeble superiority among its compeers from the recollection of what it had been. Learning, at the theatre, that Fitzgerald (the manager) was confined to his room with the asthma, I called at his lodging over a seed- shop, on a short, wide, flat street, called Corn- hill. I had taken up my abode at a watch maker's opposite. I found my new ruler seated on four chairs (all there were in the apartment), before a large fire, wrapped in a white flannel gown, a pair of green slippers peeping from un derneath, and a crimson velvet cap, confining a head of hair which might with justice have been called red-hot red, but that the contrast with the cap cooled it down to a yellowish tinge. His " reception was the north side of friendly, that I must say," to use Nicol Jarvies' expression, but that might be attributed to bodily suffering — peo ple are not often sick and civil at the same time — but a poodle dog made ample amends for the lack of hospitality of his master (he had been trained by some other gentleman), for he insist ed on taking my hat, licked my hand, and, no doubt, would have wagged his tail if he had had one ; but as the negro said of a similar animal, "dat tail must ha' been cut berry short off, or else him drave in." Poor Dragon deserves this much notice as connected with the drama; he was the real original dog in the Forest of Bondy, and shared the applause with the great Liston. The old saw says, " Judge of a man by the company he keeps ;" but the companionship and apparent kindness of Fitzgerald to this animal must not be placed to his credit as the outward sign of goodness of heart. He liked the dog be cause he drew him money ; on the same princi ple that Elliot was civil to his amiable wife Ce leste, until Fanny Elssler interfered with her attraction. After standing a reasonable time, I took a seat on the table ; he took the hint, and kicked to wards me the chair on which his feet were par tially resting; and, in the unnecessary energetic action he used, he displayed a leg, in point of size, very much resembling half a pair of large kitchen tongs. He was a tall, good-looking man when made up, but had a bad countenance; " his orow, like a pent-house, hung over" his small, gray eyes, a fine Roman nose, and a mouth struggling to be handsome in defiance of a con tinual sensual expression. He professed to be a very gallant man; and his poor little wife — who could not bring herself to rejoice with him at his triumphs in that department of the arts — through excessive love, or folly, attempted to poison herself a short time before I made his ac quaintance. Her life was saved by miracle, to drag out a wretched existence, with prostrated nerve and a broken spirit. Some plausible, but peremptory objection, was raised to every char acter I named for an opening; and, after some heat on both sides, he wheezed out his consent that I should play Crack the next night, without previous announcement, or any ofthe usual for malities thought favourable to all parties in ma king a first appearance. But I made a great hit nolwithstanding. The fact I found to be, that his ofler of an engagement to me he had been obliged to make at the suggestion of my power ful friends ; but that Mr. Bailey, an objection able actor to the audience in general comedy (poor fellow I he died long since in a poor-house), had a wife, " all of her that was out of door most rich," and on her the lion had put his paw; and the advancement of the husband on the road to theatrical preferment was the M'Adamizing means most in his power to smooth the path to the wife's dishonour. They had, of course, an excellent situation, and a large iamily ; and the good woman, I believe honestly, for the sake of her husband, did " beguile the thing she was, by seeming otherwise." But the audience claimed the exclusive privilege of protecting and reward ing a favourite actor, "all in the olden time,"' and, with the exception of some petty annoyan ces, I passed a pleasant and profitable year in the York circuit. The manager feared and ha ted me ; I have explained how innocently I had caused the latter feeling, but the first must also- be accounted for. His extreme rudeness indu ced me, after my first visit, to make my neces sary communications in writing, and, in reply to one, he, in plain English, called me a liar. I . have the will yet, but I had most powerfully the- way then, to fulfil, " on good occasion," old Sco tia's motto. I entered his apartment, and firmly, yet civilly, desired him to unurrite the expression j he refused, and I cured his asthma for that bout. I had not then heard the anecdote ofthe rough- mannered and celebrated Dr. Moseley, setting-to with a patient suffering under the same disease,. and, after pommelling him all round the room,. and ultimately flooring him with a " hit in the- wind," standing over him, and saying, very calmly, " If you ever draw your breath again, you'll be entirely cured." And I have no doubt in the efficacy ofthe remedy myself; but people- are so averse to take " what will do them good," if it's at all unpleasant, that many sufferers from. this long-lived disease, Ibave little hesitation in- supposing, would rather wheeze, and cough, and smoke stramonium, sitting upright for a month in bed, than take the thrashing I gave Fitzger ald. The dog Dragon, not having the cause of quarrel explained, was too prudent to show a preference ; but his canine feelings becoming- excited, he had a little fight of his own, taking ; the odds, and a small bite out ofthe calf of my leg, and half a mouthful of skin off the bone of his master's. Fitzgerald promised to be more- civil for the future, and I promised never to • name the matter to the company — " the lion preys not upon carcasses" — but he and the dog had called murder so loudly, when the voice of the - one was cleared and the other exasperated, that the landlady "came in at the death," and, not-. withstanding her assertion "that she never med dled with anybody's business but her own," it leaked out, and I encountered several anonymous - shakes of the hand, behind the scenes, a day or two afterward. He was actually the unnatural son of old Ger ald, the manager of a little strolling company through some small towns on the coast of Kent; ; the same man with whom Howard made his first., appearance in his successful crying capacity- Ashamed of his father and his name, when he.- joined the Norwich circuit, some years before,., he clapped the Fitz to it— wished it to be under stood he was an Irishman — and gained some sympathy as a supposed descendant of the pa triot of that name. He was a tyrant, in the full est sense ofthe word, to his inferiors; but, as is. always the case with such animals, he wast fawning and sycophantic in the extreme to those above him. Johnny Winter (by the excellent imitation of whom, and the anecdotes related 30 exquisitely by my lamented friend Charles Matthews, he could alone have supported a large family) hai. 32 THIRTY YEARS •been for years the tailor and wardrobe-keeper of the theatre, but, when Wilkinson died, he had gone into business as a breeches-maker ;. for the cut of which article, "according to the fashion of the time," he was inexpressibly talented. And to use his own words, in reply to " How are you .getting on, Winter ?" " Eh, beautiful, beautiful I I ha' gottin a large shop and no custom^-Ize doin' fine !" I was introduced to this curiosity by Cum mings, the contemporary of John Kemble, who ihad been in the York company for more than forty years ! and died upon the stage, while per forming Dumont, in the tragedy of Jane. Shore, the season after I left the company. Winter must then have been at least seventy years of •age, but retained, in figure and manner of ^d- ¦dress, all the flippancy of youth in an extraordi nary degree. He was a great admirer of the turf (all classes of Yorkshiremen usually are), and always dressed like a jockey, or trainer, in a frock-coat, small-clothes, topped, boots, striped waistcoat, fancy neckerchief; with a horse or ¦dog brooch, and a whip or ash-sapling in his hand. His opinion, in theatrical affairs — which he always (often without being asked) gave without respect to the feelings ofthe party — was, from its whimsicality and blunt honesty, both sought for and dreaded. Matthews he couldn't " abide ;" his great and admired particularity in his dress was very objectionable to Johnny, and he used to say, "Dang the feller, he's niver sooted; there's John Em'ry 'ull put on ony ko'it as cums to hand, an' gang on, an' mak the peepl' laagh twice as much as what he can." It was part of his duty to provide clean tow- •els for the gentlemen ; and the nervous, anxious Matthews would soil a napkin from one end to the other in cleaning, and painting, and marking Siis face, again and again, to obtain some par ticular expression; this was a great offence to Winter; and when he had left the room he'd phold it up and exclaim, " Did ye iver see sic a nasty beast as that Mathoos ? all'ay s a washin' himsen ; noo Mis tre Cummins is the cleanest man amang ye, an' he ne'er washes himsen at all." Poor Cummings, being afflicted with a dis ease of the heart, generally dressed at home, or nearly so. The sensitive, fidgety Matthews was actually annoyed that he couldn't obtain any approbation from Winter; and when the farce of the Re view was first produced, he prevailed upon John ny to go in the front, and give him his opinion of his personation of Caleb duotem, in which •he intended to make (and did) a great hit. At sthe conclusion of the performance, while un dressing, Matthews inquired, " Well, Johnny, how did you like it?" J' Beautiful, sir 1 beautiful ! I ne'er seed nau't like it." " Ay, indeed !" said Matthews, delighted ; *' I'm glad you were pleased, Johnny." " Wha could help but be pleased?" said Win ter : " i'twar the varri best actin' 1 iver seed i' my life." " Yes, I think it was a decided hit," said Matthews, gratified at having at length made a convert of Winter. " And how did you like my song ? it went capitally, didn't it ?" "Ye'r song?" said Johnny, with a vacant stare. " Oh, e'es, I remembers ; i'twar a poor jibber-jabber thing; I thou't nau't on't— but I ha' seed mony sic creturs as thim, an' i'twar na'thral as lite; i'twar beautiful, sir! beauti ful!" Rejoiced at obtaining such unequivocal ap probation from Winter, who had never praised him before, Matthews continued, "Yes, Winter, I never was in a better hu mour for acting; I think it's decidedly my very best part; don't you, Johnny ?" "Me, sir?" said the implacable Winter: "I niver thou't nau't aboot ye — not I !" " Why?" said Matthews, astonished, " haven't you just been paying my acting all sorts of com pliments?" "You ?" said Johnny : " I niver once thou't o' ye; I wur praisin' Mistre Hope i' Dubbs; he wur th' varri best i' th' hul piece." Fitzgerald, though a vile actor, to give the dev il his due, had a very superior, and even clas sical knowledge of costume ; and he had em ployed Winter to make him a suite of dresses for Macbeth. When he was a lad, and bearing his real name, he had been engaged by Wilkinson, but discharged after a week or two, in conse quence of his impertinence and incapacity. This Winter recollected, and, while fitting on a robe, some departure he had made from his instruc tions caused Fitzgerald to fly into a violent pas sion, and use some coarse and insolent language to the old man, who very calmly said, when the gust was over, "Now, ye see, ye mun get some ane else to finish t' job, or do't yersen ; ye see, I recollect ye when ye wur a poor ragged lad, , an' wur kick'd out o' theatre, Mistre , Gerald; ye hadn't Fitz then !" andvery coolly walked away. Charles Wood, was another heir-loom in this establishment; no manager dared discharge him ; he had been a member of the company even longer than Cummings, and was a much older man ; ¦ he was stone deaf, but the most cheerful, good-tempered creature in existence ; he had been a singer in his youth, and was the original Eugene in the Agreeable Surprise, at the Hay- market; he was always humming or whistling a tune about the theatre, as " gay as a lark ;" his .wife was in her..dotage, and he had a large family of children, imost of whom had turned out badly ; id est, the boys were all very wicked, and some of the girls very good-natured ; but he drew comfort even from them, and would say, "Ay, ay> plenty of —and rogues in my family, but no cowards," in reference to the care-for- nothing behaviour of one of his boys on receiv ing sentence for some petty crime. In endeavouring to pull on a tight boot one night in a hurry, I boasted that I had " the pa tience of Job" — which people are very apt to do when they have lost all their own — in the hear ing of Winter, who, from long habit, was a fre quent visiter of the dressing-room. "Talk o' 'the patience o' Job!'" said John ny. "Look at Charley Wood, wi' twenty-ane scamps o' childer, a queer wife, an' a guinea a week I ' Patience o' Job,' indeed ! Job be d— ! look at Charley Wood a whislin' I" During, my sojourn in this company I formed some friendships both lasting and valuable. Among them I made one in rather a singular manner. Paul Bedford, an actor and singer,* had introduced me to his brother, a professed gambler, and a partner in a fashionable hell in Pall Mall. During the York races he attended an E. O. table in the gentleman's stand, to which I had the entree. There were three horses to run PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. ior the cup— Catton, Fulford, and, I think, Ever lasting. Catton was the favourite, at great odds, but the knowing ones had some notion of Ful ford ; and Bedford instructed me that if, at a cer tain point of the race, Fulford was ahead, to " bet all I had." He was ahead at the right time and place, and / did bet a guinea with an ele gant utile old man, with powdered hair and a cue ; and when the sport was over, he inquired loudly for the gentleman to whom he had lost a guinea. I presented myself. " Why, my dear sir," said he, with great glee, -"how is it possible you came to bet on my horse ? Why, I had not the most remote idea lie could beat Catton; my dear sir, it was my own horse I was betting against; I merely en tered him for the sake of the sport, and to please some friends who were anxious to see what he •could do. Why, you must be a most excellent judge ; haven't I the pleasure of knowing you ?" "Cowell, sir, is my name," said I. " What, of the theatre ? why, certainly, cer tainly ! 1 thought I knew your face ; I saw you in Goldfinch last night; an excellent perform ances-excellent. Allow me to give you my card — Neville King; you must dine with us to day ; I'll introduce you to my friends." And the bustling, agreeable little old man, jiamed me to some dozen noblemen and gentle men as his friend, " Mr. Cowell, of the theatre, ¦a great judge of horses, and a winner on the race," His invitation to dine with the club was earnest ly repeated by several, and as I only had to per form Tiptoe, in the farce of " Ways and Means," I consented. We had a jovial time ; I sung them some songs suitable to the occasion, was indu ced to remain longer than was prudent, and when I got to the theatre I was conscious that I was very drunk. I had, fortunately, little change to make in my dress, merely a footman's jacket in stead of my coat, and a silver band round my hat, for, of course, I always wore topped boots and breeches in the race week. Johnny Winter dosed me with tea and pickles, for, to his taste, 1 had suffered in a good cause, and my brother actors managed the first scene among them selves ; the last chiefly consists in a very long speech, in which Tiptoe is supposed to have been taking a drop too much, and in depicting which 1 had gained some reputation ; but it had " pleas ed the devil drunkenness to give place" to qualm ish stupidity. I cunningly avoided any effort at acting, and as a large portion of the audience were suffering, probably with exactly my sensa- Ptions, the whole affair passed off insipidly enough. I had just gained my dressing-room, and began to sip some brandy-toddy, which Winter had declared " the sovereign'st thing on earth," when Fitzgerald strutted into the room. " Why, Cowell !" said he, " I never was so dis appointed in my life ! Some of your admirers," with a sneer, " told me you were very fine in a drunken character, and I was induced to see the last act. Why, my good sir, you have mistaken the style of Tiptoe's intoxication altogether ; he has but a very short time to get drunk in, and, of course, is highly excited from the immediate ef fects of wine, swallowed in large quantities ; but you lost sight entirely of the exhilarating char acter of drunkenness, which the author intends, and looked like a man who had been very tipsy, and wanted to go to bed and sleep off its narcotic remains. It was very bad, 1 assure you — you were entirely mistaken." When he had closed the door, Winter said, | D v 33 " That poor ignorant thing knows more aboot na'thral actin' than I iver thou't he did." During Colonel Neville King's stay at York, he showed great attention to myself and family. I painted a portrait of Fulford, with which he was highly delighted, and had it splendidly framed and sent to Lincoln, where he resided. Probably in the history ofthe turf, no two hu man beings were ever so-perfectly pleased at Losing a guinea andiwinning a guinea. CHAPTER XIV. " 'Tis thou, thrice sweet and gracious goddess ! (address ing myself to Liberty), whom all in public and private worship; whose taste is grateful, and' ever will be so, till Nature herself shall change. No tint of words can spot thy snowy mantle, or chyinic power turn thy sceptre into iron : with thee to smile upon him as he eats his crust, the swain is happier than his monarch, from whose court thou art ex iled." — Sterne. Op all the members of the York company at that time, none ever arrived at any eminence in the profession excepting Mrs. Humby. She had been educated a singer, was excessively pretty, and in simple, innocent characters, a charming actress. She was the best Cowslip I ever played with ; her husband was a very esti mable, and in money matters, an extremely pru dent young man, and went by the name of " Young Calculation." Playing Solomon, in the Quaker, one night, I made use of the usual distich," Who sees a pin and lets it lay, may want a pin another day. I'll pick it up and stick it here ; a pin a day's a groat a year." When Humby met me in the morning, he said, " Cowell, you must alter that rhyme of yours: it isn't correct ; I've made a calculation, and a pin a day is tenpence ha'penny a year, if you purchase by retail." The circuit consisted of York, Hull, Leeds, Doncaster, and Wakefield, and at the latter town I left the company — I am glad to say, to the great annoyance and inconvenience of Fitzger ald, for I was an enormous favourite, and at that time there were few professors of my line of business out of London. Kilner succeeded me, an excellent actor in hearty old men, which then I didn't play ; he came soon after to this country, and was long a great favourite at Boston, but of late, like the genius of old, he has kept himself corked up in a bottle. I was tempted to join the Lincoln circuit, by the offer of one half more salary than I received at York, to play only four times a week; to have the book sent to me td choose the character I preferred performing in every piece ; to visit seven towns in a year, near ly close together, and have half the clear receipts of one night. in each for a benefit. This com pany had been for many years under the direc tion of Thomas Robertson, but through the ridic ulous speculations he had entered into at the in stigation of a particular friend, he had been thrown into prison for debt, and I was engaged by a committee of gentlemen who had under taken to regulate his affairs, and had secured to me the strict fulfilment of their contract. It was sundown on Sunday when I arrived at Lincoln. I had, with my wife and two children, posted, all day from Wakefield, where I had finished my engagement the night before, and performed Domine Samson and Baron Willinghurst ; and after putting my person in repair, I accompanied my friend Armstrong, the leading actor (whom I bad known in the York company), to the lodg- 34 THIRTY YEARS ing of the lady manager. I am not considered a faithful historian where women are concerned. In consequence of my adoration of the sex, I have been accused of being too partial in my descriptions ; but if any of my readers are ac quainted with Johp Mills Brown, the comedian, and will imagine him dressed in a very low- necked, short-sleevedjjilack velvet gown, large black necklace and ear-rings, dark sorrel hair turned up behind, with ringlets in front, and a very beautiful hand, and arm bare to the shoul der, they'll have a very correct likeness of Mrs. Fanny Robertson, whose half-sister she was on the mother's side. Her maiden name was Ross, and her father the manager of the Edinburgh Theatre, "long time ago," and celebrated in Irish characters : and her mother was said to be equal to Mrs. Jordan. I was never introduced to a queen, but the et iquette observed and exacted by Mrs. Robertson, I imagine, is all that will be required, if I ever do go to court. Her boudoir was small, but ele gant ; an easel with drawing materials on a stand in one corner, a superb harp in another, a pianoforte and a profusion of books, music, drawings, and other "knick-knacks." Her re ception of me was most favourable, and had she really been a queen, I should have felt certain of a seat in the cabinet. The next night the theatre opened with the comedy of Speed the Plough, and a Chip of the Old Block ; I playing Sir Abel Handy and Chip. The house was crowded, and I made a prodigious hit. The following morning I paid my respects to the manager at the Castle, and was introduced to the deputy-governor, alias the jailer, a very pleasant, intelligent man, as everybody descri bed him, by lie name of Merriweather. Though his appellative didn't agree with his gloomy oc cupation, he had the reputation of being highly qualified for his office ; he was formerly a tailor, but having " a soul above buttons," he preferred the name of his trade should begin with a J in stead of a T, had chosen to turn keys instead of coats, and to lock up rather than to cut out. He was a great amateur in horticulture, mineralogy, conchology, zoology, and perhaps all the "'olo- gies" excepting, probably, ontology; his power of expression in matters of science was a per fect oglio, and in attempting to convey his " use ful knowledge" to the uninformed, he more un intelligibly mixed it up for his own exclusive gratification. The walls of his dining-room (he gave excellent dinners) were decorated with stuffed ducks, distorted cockle-sheHs, and "other skins of ill-shaped fishes." His admiration of the arts and sciences had caused him to enclose nearly the whole ofthe Castle yard for a private garden; though it was originally intended for the use of prisoners for debt (then often for life) and traitors, and other delinquents to stretch their legs in, before the law decided upon stretch ing their necks; but as the dessert-tables of the bishop, the sheriff, and the judges were seasona bly supplied with the delicacies it produced, his taste, and that of'his pineapples, were greatly admired. It was cultivated with both care and skill, under his direction, by some petty rascals who were indulged in digging to the clanking music made by their own fetters encountering the blade of a spade ; all wicked gardeners were sentenced to six months' prison discipline at least, if he had any influence in their case. " Mr. Robertson is a particular friend of mini, Mr. Cowell," said this St. Peter : " I am devoted*- ly fond ofthe drama, and have given him liberty to walk in my heaven on earth, as I call my ru ral sanctum." Unlocking a huge iron bar, which secured a small, though high gate, overarched with two prodigious jaw-bones of a whale, the merits of which, after explaining, I have do doubt, in very scientific, ossified language, we thridded the "narrow pathway" till we overtook my new manager, the privileged Jonas. He was a small, handsome-featured man, with amiability and humility quietly claiming pos session of the only expressions his countenance- was capable of. He was dressed in a dark-col oured morning-gown, soiled with powder on the- collar, though he had none in his hair; his beard! was long, shoes untied, and his whole appear ance forlorn and slovenly. Every debtor I ever saw^in prison in my life always looked as if he* owed money and could not pay it — though I'm told sometimes their looks belie them. His welcome was painfully polite, and our short conversation ended with his expressing a hope that he might shortly meet me in some other than " this wretched place." Looking round upon the most beautiful garden I ever beheld, 2 thought of Sterne's Starling, and imagined I saw " I can't get out" glistening in his moistened eye:. On my return to my lodging, if Falstaff had' met my landlady in the passage as I did, he- would very probably have said, " Heigh, heigh t the devil rides upon a fiddlestick," for as she- described her sensations, she was all in a " flus- terfication." Following me up stairs, she flounced herself into a chair, and with scarcely breath to* utter, exclaimed, " Oh, sir, what do you think ? the high-sheriff" has been here and inquired for you, asked me- when he could be sure to find you at home, and- has left his card. Heaven help me, that I should: have ever let my lodgings to a player; 'but as- what's done can't be undone, get out the back way as fast as you can, and make your escape,"' • As a visit from this important functionary in? England is never paid, in his official capacity,. but to gentlemen who are either suspected, or guilty of high treason ; and as my poor landlady* couldn't imagine he would call upon me in any other way, she had pictured to herself my incarceration in the keep of the Castle,' thence- drawn on a hurdle to the place of execution, mjr head popped upon a pole like a robin redbreast,, and the balance of my body dangled from a gib bet. The direction of her astonishment was chan ged, though rather increased than diminished,, when, on reading the card, I calmly said, " Colo nel Neville King — oh, my dear madam, he's a- particular friend of mine." "A friend o' yourn, sir!" said the woman, al most in a scream. "My goodness gracious! a friend o' yourn ? Why, he's one of the greatest gentlemen in the county ; he's the high-sheriff, sir : only to think of his being a particular friend' o' yourn. Why, sir, I assure vou he never darkened my doors afore, though I've always had the most genteelest of lodgers. Sally! put- some more fire on in Mr. Coward's parlour I Thai'* your name, I believp, sir?" "Noj madam— Cowell," I replied. "Yes, Mr. Cowen. I'll recollect," said she;- " only being so pui out makes a body forget. That gal h^s never dusted these chairs, I de-> clare. My last lodger was a lawyer's clerk and PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 3$ his lady, and Colonel King never once thought o' calling upon him. I can't help thinking of the colonel's being your particular friend. I must get another gal ; she's too lazy for any thing, I do declare ; there's not a drop of water. Sally! bring a nice fresh pitcher of water for Mr. Cowitch ! There, I believe I have called you wrong again." " Cow-ell, madam," said I, with emphasis. " Yes, sir, Cow-hell ; yes, hell, hell ! I shall be sure to recollect it now. As I said before, Mr. Cow-hell, I always let to none but genteel peo ple; never took in a player before, and wouldn't you, only you was so highly recommended. I must make that gal put this room nice to rights every day ; perhaps Colonel King may call again. What sweet children you've got, Mr. Cow—" "Ell," said I. " Yes, Mr. Cowhell. Send 'em down to get a cake when they're hungry. I'll have your win dows cleaned to-morrow, and put you another little strip of carpet in the bedroom, and try to make you nice and comfortable. If Colonel King calls, I'll tell him to walk up ?" I nodded, and away she bustled to tell the wonderful event to her husband and her custom ers, for she kept a pastry shop. It was still long before a decent dinner-hour, and, minutely di rected by my landlady, I set off to return the colonel's call. On the almost inaccessible hill, called the Strait, which divides the lower from the upper town, I met the " fine old English gen tleman" on his way down to request me to dine with him and his brother, a clergyman, with whom he was desirous I should be acquainted, which I readily accepted, and we continued our walk through the city ; he introducing me, as we went, to those who were worth knowing, and stopping several times to relate the guinea anec dote and "extol my judgment in horseflesh. His brother I found more of the man of the world than the colonel, but extremely kind and agree able ; my picture of the horse was criticised with judgment, softened by politeness and parti ality ; he was very conversant with Shakspeare, and regretted that the theatre, being under the " shade of the Cathedral," he couldn't with pro priety witness my performance; but, out of the Fulford cup, drank to his speedily .having that pleasure in London. I believe the prayers of priests are attended to sometimes. A conversa tion between the player and the parson, on the inutility of the drama in a moral point of view, he armed with kind feeling and George Barn well, I with experience and the Beggar's Opera, was suddenly interrupted by the colonel's say ing abruptly, " Brother, I have an excellent idea. Mr. Rob ertson has for years been urging me to lend my name to patronise a house — you know what I mean— to put at the top of the play-bill, ' By de sire of Colonel King,' and all that sort of thing ; but, though I wish him well, yet I have always refused, for I should feel mortified by having anything to do with the matter unless I had a good house, that is, an overflowing house ; but I was thinking Mr. Cowell and myself could make a great thing of it between us at his ben efit, eh'? High-sheriff of the county, and all that — Lady Monson's in town, and she'll get the Earl of Warwick to go ; and then there's Heron — * I never asked any favours of these people be fore, and I'll ask everybody ; and, el^-what do you' think, brother ?" The parson thought it excellent; I thought it capital, and the next day, Wednesday, he was to go electioneering for "our benefit," as he called it, and I was to open a box-sheet in the morning. I did, of course, as he desired, and on the following day every seat was taken ; the re ceipts were larger than any ever before in Lin coln. Singular to relate, the manager, who was respected by everybody, was released from prison on that very evening, and I led the good old man on the stage amid the deafening cheers of the audience. After a pleasant and profitable season, the company moved to Newark-upon-Trent, the distance performed in about two hours. I had introductions to everybody from everybody. The pride of the theatrical population caused an ef fort to be made to exceed the Lincoln receipts, on my benefit night there, without the aid of in dividual patronage; and, though the house was smaller, some well-applied guinea tickets gave them a powerful pound-and-shilling victory over their more aristocratic neighbours. The same success attended me at Grantham, SpaldingL Boston, Peterborough, and Huntingdon; and my return through the circuit made " assurance- doubly sure." The only unalloyed period of per fect content and comfort I ever experienced (in a theatrical point of view) were the nearly two- years I passed in this company. We never played more than four nights in a week, with) the exception of the race week at Huntingdon^, and then we received one third more salary. To* the off-play days the manager laid no claim, for rehearsals or any other purpose ; the actor's- time was his own; it was considered not paid for, and, therefore, not taxed; excepting prob ably twice in a year, the production of some showy, piece would make a night rehearsal ne cessary; and then, the voluntary assistance of the company was requested in a respectful and affectionately-worded note addressed to each in dividual, from the highest to the lowest, and the business ofthe evening closed with an econom ical repast. Stars were never engaged to " strut their hour upon the stage," for twenty pounds, t» the disadvantage, by comparison, of the poor stock-actor, working hard for twenty shillings a- week. The performers were selected with a rigid ' regard to moral worth and deportment, and with • as much talent as is (I am sorry to say so sel dom) met with, hand in hand. The conse quence was, the actors and actresses were treat- - ed like human beings by the citizens, and, ac cording to their grade and acquirements, had social intercourse with their fellow-men : they " remained, generally, in the company for years. - Among themselves they were like brothers and ; sisters, but paying the respect due to age and- superior talents always observed in well-regn'la»- ted families. Show me a manager on this wide Continent of America who has ever had (or has) the in stinctive moral propriety of feeling to pursue such a course. No : they say, " Any way to make money or get a living." But, as Colman ob serves in one of his plays, " the ways be so fou' and the bread be so dirty, that it would turn a nice stomach to eat on't." On each play day we rehearsed the perform ance of the night, with scenery, properties, and the most scrupulous exactness ;.3 this over-and- over-again drilling was a nuisance to those who understood their business, and I was one who thought so, but it secured the pieces being letter 36 THIRTY YEARS perfect, and you were sure to have a subordinate stand where you wished, say what he should, and when he ought. No Richard in that com pany would say, " Hark ! the shrill trumpet," and then hear a Too-ti-to-too ! two minutes af terward ; but there the sound was " echo to the sense." The same plays and farces which were performed in one town were repeated in the next, in the same rotation ; and each performer retained the same entertainment he had at first selected for the whole year ; as, for instance, I took Charles Dibdin's very agreeable operatic play of the Farmer's Wife, and Midas, for my first benefit, and they were only played on that occasion everywhere through the circuit, and the next year considered stock property. In every town one or two plays or farces were " got up," of which the performers were provided with books or parts at least a month before; and these collectively formed a fresh list to start with at Lincoln. The manager, with very good taste, proved his superior confidence in the probity of the softer sex, by employing a female money- taker or treasuress, a fine, fat, handsome woman, by the name of Stanard, and mother of the ami able " Sister Rachael," now in this country. Mrs. Robertson was a highly-accomplished, (Strong-minded woman, and, notwithstanding her uninteresting appearance, a very superior ac tress ; but often loose and careless, from the ab sence of that wholesome stimulus to ambition — competition. Her husband was humility per sonified; he employed a stage-manager, and when he visited the theatre of a morning, you might, from his manner, imagine it belonged to any person but himself; as he passed round the scenery on tiptoe, to take a seat at the corner of the prompter's table, he'd bow to each actor he met in the most respectful manner. The inner lapel of his coat would be literally lined with scraps of paper about two inches big pinned to it, on which were written his memoranda for the day; watching a leisure moment, he'd beckon you towards him, and unpinning one of his little manuscripts, read as follows : " Mr. Cowell will be good enough to name what song he will sing on Thursday evening, the,, rjfh day q£ June next" — it would then be probably trie latter end of May — " the performance being by desire of the Lincoln Sharp Shooters." " Oh, any you please, sir," I would reply. " I would rather you would be kind enough to name one," he'd sav, timidly. " Well, sir, the Nightingale Club." " Wait an instant, if you please ;" then turn ing the paper, he'd write on the bsck, "Mr. Cowell is good enough to say he will sing the song of the Nightingale Club on Thursday even ing, the 17th day of June next, the performance being by desire ofthe Lincoln Sharp Shooters," and repin it in the vacant place. Now this was all very ridiculous, but it was very inoffensive, and infinitely preferable to the arrogant, insolent manners of some living managers, whom I shall as faithfully describe in the next volume. CHAPTER XV. " Why, everything adheres together ; that no dram of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no obstacle, no incredulous or un&afe circumstance — What can be said? Nothing that can be can come between me and the full prospect of my hopes. Well, Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked."— Twelfth Night. At about this period, Stephen Kemble had been appointed manager of Drury Lane by tne committee for the trustees, and immediately proved his friendship, and the high opinion he entertained of my talent, by offering me an en gagement of six pounds per week, to be increas ed to seven and eight, in the event of ray success, for the following seasons ; explaining, that the salaries were greatly reduced, but that this sum gave me all the privileges of the theatre usually granted to the principal performers ; that neither Harley nor Munden were expected to return, and the opening, therefore, was an excellent one; and assuring me he had the greatest confidence in my heing received most favourably by a Lon don audience. Highly elated, I instantly submitted the affair to Mrs. Robertson, for her advice and opinion. "It cannot be disguised nor denied, Mr. Cow ell," said this clever woman, "that the loss of your services will be severely felt by Mr. Rob ertson ; it may be long (if ever) before he may be able to obtain a gentleman so highly esteem ed by the friends of the theatre to supplyvyour place ; but I most solemnly pledge myself that no selfish consideration influences my- advice one atom, but, in the spirit of sincere and disin terested friendship, I urge you to refuse this offer. Your income here, you are aware, with your benefits for the last year, was eight pounds per week, within a few shillings, and this year it will exceed that sum ; this, you must recollect, is for every week in the year ; there you have a vaca tion; and without a name long and conspicu ously known in London, you can employ your talent to little profit during that period in the country. Lent, Passion-week, and other holy- days, with the respect demanded to be paid at the death of every member of an aged and ex tensive royal family, will reduce your yearly in come nearly one half, and your expenses in London will more than double what is required to live as you do here. There is not the most remote probability of a diminution in your pop ularity, and the fact that you have refused a London engagement for the sake of rerhaining in this company, would so flatter the vanity of these kind-hearted people, that they would feel bound by gratitude to support you, with their ut most means, forever. Mr. Robertson is getting old"— here .she gave a little shake of her head, and curled down hermouth as people usually do after taking a glass of sea-water, or a seidlitz powder without sugar—" and he has more than once spoken of your succeeding him in the management; nature never intended you to be in a subordinate situation in life ; here you have everything your own way ; but in London, no matter what success you may meet with, envy, jealousy, and various petty annoyances (the most tormenting of any), will inevitably sur round you; the management encumbered by a committee of noblemen and gentlemen totally ig norant or unmindful of the feelings and rights of actors, and quarrelling among themselves who shall most embarrass the interests of the theatre to advance — in defiance of public taste — some favourite mistress, and, through her influ ence, probably those who may impede or inter fere with your advancement; "and — yougnayfail —and then, to return here, with diminished lustre, would be vexatious to yourself; and these good people, relying on a London judgment* might suspect they had been mistaken in your talent,! and adopt their opinion. There, I have made you a long speech, and given you my most hon- PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 37 est opinion ; and now do as you please ; I shall never say a word farther on the subject." Half convinced of the truth and policy of her advice, I might probably have adopted it, but that she unfortunately said, " You may fail;" this wounded ray pride, and, to remove all doubt of such a possibility, I "screwed my courage to the sticking place" and accepted the engage ment. Every day, prior to my departure, I be came more fully satisfied with the decision I had made. From the first hour I became an actor, every energy of mind and body had been stretch ed to its utmost to achieve this grand desidera tum, and now the hoped-for stake for which 1 played came to my hand without my seeking it, with advantages unprecedented — Stephen Kem ble, my proved friend, the manager, and a va cancy in my line of business in the theatre that might not occur again for years. My suc cess with the public my vanity and experience would not permit me to doubt for a moment, for, after passing, with the highest approbation, " the rough brake" of a York audience — the most dif ficult to please in England — I had little to fear from the acknowledged liberality of a London one. On my last night the company and the manager gave me a handsome supper, and, with the good wishes of a host of friends, I set off for London, and the first play-bill I saw, on entering the metropolis, announced Mr. Mun- den's re-engagement at Drury Lane. I found the theatre in a deplorable condition ; an indifferent company, and badly selected, play ing to literally empty benches, excepting when Kean performed, and his attraction had, from the constant repetition of his plays, been worn to a shadow of what it had been. To appear on any night when he didn't act, was assuredly to have an empty house ; therefore, by the advice of Stephen Kemble, I opened in Samson Raw- bold, in " The Iron Chest," and Nicholas, in the " Midnight Hour." My success was equal to my warmest wishes. Several members of the committee, particularly Colonel Douglass, paid me some high compliments, and Kean, Kemble, and the enthusiastic " little" Knight were warm in their congratulations. The song, which is not an effective one, was loudly encored, which Mr. Smart, the leader, assured me, in the green room, he did not remember to have been so hon oured smce the part was qjjgjnally played by Suett. The newspapers wefe^all very appro ving; numbers of my Lincolnshire friends had visited London for the simple-hearted purpose of giving me their support, and, by using their influence with their friends in town, the house was better than usual, though it was the same night that Farren made his bolstered-up hit at Covent Garden. Everything in the power of Stephen Kemble to aid my advancement was attended to with great care ; I was never called upon to play any thing but a principal character, and his personal kindness gave me an enviable position in the company ; my chiefest annoyance was my not having enough to do. The Lyceum closed, after a few weeks, to make room for Matthews with a new entertainment, called "A Trip to Paris," and Harley rejoined Drury Lane; he was an established favourite with the audience, and a very general actor. He had founded his style originally on Fawcett and Bannister, but ne didn't hesitate to araw largely on Munden, Lis ten, Knight, Matthews, De Camp, and others, according to the nature of the character he had to represent, or all of them at once, if the part re quired their varied powers; but out of the patch work he made a very agreeable performance, and only a nice observer would discover the stitch ing together. He was most indefatigable ia his profession, and in private life an inoffensive man, though worldly-minded, and extremely pe nurious. We had been old friends at Brighton, and when I first went to London he took me to his lodgings to see his collection of prints. He had a Handsome apartment over a book-shop in Bedford-street, Covent Garden, the wall of which was decorated with a large number of portraits. of actors, all guarantied to have been given to him in the handwriting of each on the margin. Being so early in the day that a refusal was cer tain, he ventured to point to the sideboard and invite me to take a little brandy, and made me promise, very faithfully, that some day I would take a chop with him, which promise, while ia England, he more than a dozen times made me repeat ; but tlie day never arrived, nor did I ever hear of any human being ever taking a meal at his table. He was a good son and brother. His mother and two sisters resided with him. They kept no servant, and when he played they would be seen seated above, at the corner next the stage, in the second tier of boxes, for the double purpose of Starting the applause and saving fire and candle at home ; and frequently, when it happened to be a dull, poor house, they would have all the applause to themselves, and, being very persevering in their approbation, they were often noticed by the audience, to the .great amusement of the actors and the constant vis iters of the theatre. But they continued most faithfully to discharge this duty for years, and to' their timely hints Harley was indebted for many an encore and round of applause. Mr. Barnard, who was the walking gentleman of the establishment, had solicited the services of Russell, Gattie, Oxberry, myself, and Harley, to play for his wife's benefit, who belonged to the Greenwich company. We hired a glass- coach, alias a better sort of hack, for the day, and at about ten o'clock in the mpming we called and took up Harley, the last ofthe party. After the rehearsal of Wild Oats, with "the fol lowing powerful cast," Rover — Russell (who would cheerfully travel a hundred miles, get up in the middle ofthe night, and give five pounds into the bargain to play that character at any time); Ephraim — Oxberry; Sir George — Gat tie ; Sim — Cowell ; and John Dory — Harley, it was agreed that each should write down an order for a cutlet, or chop, or anything they pleased for dinner, without the knowledge ofthe others, and then make it a general repast ; when it came to Harley's turn he declined, stating, as an excuse, that he had dined before he set out. " What, before ten o'clock ?" says Russell : "why, Jack, you dine as early as poor Tokely used to do, but I hope it's not from the same cause." Tokely was a very intemperate, but extremely clever man. Fawcett was stage-man ager of the Haymarket Theatre, where Tokely was an immense favourite ; he frequently came quite inebriated to rehearsal, and Fawcett under took to advise him to refrain from drinking liquor in the morning. " I am fond 01 my giass ol wine after dinner," said Fawcett, " and a glass of grog after supper, but to taste liquor before dinner is a vile, ungen- tlemanly habit ; and for Heaven's sake, TokelyT oblige me and yourself by refraining for the fit* •38 THIRTY YEARS -ture ; promise, me you'll never drink anything till after dinner." Tokely pledged himself that he would not; but a few days afterward he was absent after the time called for the last rehearsal of a new piece; when he arrived Fawcett was about- to rebuke him for his neglect, but caught a whiff X)f his breath. "Faugh!" said Fawcett, "Mr. Tokely, I'm -ashamed of you ; you've been drinking again ; .remember what you promised !" " But, sir, I've dined," said Tokely, very de- onurely.¦ " Dined ?" said Fawcett : " what, before eleven .o'clock in the morning?" "Yes," said the comedian, "I dined early, and that caused my being rather late at rehear sal." Poor Tokely continued to dine early, and died very soon afterward. When the varied dinner was served, Harley seated himself at the window with a newspaper, but the savoury odour of the viands was too much for his hungry resolution. "That smells deliciously," said Harley: "al low me to take a little bit on a morsel of bread." And though we all invited him to have a plate and chair, and partake, he still continued to re fuse, and " pick a little bit" of everything, and cheerfully took a glass or two of wine with us all. Russell, who was a great wag, borrowed a pound note of him; and when we made the set tlement, before starting home at night, he char ged Harley for his equal share of the dinner, supper, and wine, and handed him two and six pence as the change of his note. He looked daggers, but he never uttered a word the whole way to London. The eldest Miss Tree, a most amiable wom an, was the principal dancer of the theatre. She had been married to, and separated from an advertising dancing-master by the name of •Guin. Harley paid her great attention, and everybody imagined it would be a match. Some one was praising her very highly for her performance of Columbine, in the Christmas pantomime : "Yes," said Tom Cooke, "she's very clever as Columbine, and I'm told'shortly she's going to be Harley Quin." But she never was, for she was in this coun try with her sister Ellen, and still Miss Tree. In society Harley was agreeable and gentle manly, could sing a comic song extremely well, and tell a studied, droll story with effect, but I don't believe he was ever known to say a witty thing naturally, or perpetrate a joke of his own in his life. During this season I played as an apology for Munden, Knight, Harley, and Oxberry, in con sequence of the indisposition of one or the other, at very short notice, and frequently with their names in the bill, and was always most favour ably received by the audience; as I made it "a rule all my life to be at the theatre every morn ing at ten o'clock, whether wanted or not, and generally in the green-room at night, if any one was sick whose place I could supply, I was the first to be called upon ; as it placed me frequent ly in a favourable point of view before the audi ence, in characters in which I was prepared — and even if I had never seen the piece, having an extraordinary quick study, great presence of mind, and tact to get through anything — these sudden calls upon my services (particularly as i they obliged my good friend the manager) were j rather pleasing to me than otherwise ; and they occurred so frequently, that it became a joke for the actors, and when I entered the theatre, at morning or night, they'd salute me with, " Here he is ! Munden's sick !" or, " Cowell, my dear fellow, you can go home; everybody's quite well," as the case might be. Even Kem ble would join in the joke, and say, in his fine, fat, good-humoured manner, " Doctor Cowell, I'm very sorry to inform you that all your patients are in fine health this morning." I had just finished playing Cosey, in " Town and Country," one night, when a message came to me in my room that Harley, while pre paring for the afterpiece, had been seized with an epileptic fit, and inquiring if I would under take the part of Goodman, in the Barmicide; a splendid spectacle, which had been long in preparation, and produced for the first time the night preceding. It was a very long character — some melo-dramatic business, interspersed with two concerted pieces of music and a song. 1 undertook to get through it, with the part in my hand ; the only advantage I had was, that I had seen it the night before, for there was no time to read it — nothing puts an audience so out of hu mour as delay. An apology, stating the dilemma the management was placed in, was made, and I was received with the hearty encouragement a London public know so well how to bestow. During the intervals of the scenes, I got so far possession of the part that I referred to it but seldom, and in the last act did without it entirely. To show the aptness with which an audience there seizes upon and applies any portion of the dialogue which serves to express their feeling, I'll state the following as a proof. The lovely Mrs. Orger had to say, in reference to some aid I had afforded to the virtuous part of the plot, " I'm sure we are all greatly indebted to Good man; I don't know what we should have done without his assistance." The house applauded to the echo that applauds again ; and at nearly the end of the piece, my last speech was to the effect, " Giaffar has done his duty, somebody else has done his' and I trust, with submission, I have done mine." And the curtain fell amid deafening peals of applause. The management and the critics gave me infinitely more credit for the undertaking than it deserved, and I, of course, retained the character during the run of the piece. Harley's illness was continuous, and I pledge myself / never once prayed for my friend's? recovery. Actors are the most selfish people in the world, and feel for one another on the same principle as the midshipman's favour ite toast, "A long and bloody war!" explains their sentiments. His death, or absence from the theatre, would have greatly aided my ad vancement; but, unfortunately for me, and for tunately for the theatre, about this time Howard Payne's tragedy of Brutus made a prodigious hit, and was played nearly the whole ofthe sea son. The theatre was so entirely prostrate at this epoch, that the salaries failed in being paid, and as a last resource, Payne's play, which had long lain neglected, was, by Stephen Kemble's good taste, put in rehearsal, and Kean was prevailed upon to. study the part. After a number of vexa tious delays, which Payne bore with exemplary patience, walking with the permission of a "day rule" to the theatre (for he was a prisoner for PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 39 debt at the time in the Fleet or Bench) to meet Kean by appointment, and then find him not to be found, or not fit to be seen, it was at length produced to an indifferent house. It was shock ingly cast ; Harry Kemble, whom the audience would hardly tolerate, was the Tarquin ; D. Fish er, who had good sense enough since to turn dancing-master, was the Titus ; and the balance of the characters wjisupported by a parcel of peo ple that it would be annoying even to mention their names ; the fat, vulgar, housekeeper-look ing Mrs. Glover, who now plays a line of busi ness she was only ever fit to sustain, was the Tullia ; Water-gruel Mrs. W. West was the other woman, and the pretty little dawdle, Mrs. Robinson, the Lucretia. On the first night, a scene between her and Harry Kemble nearly ended the fate of the play ; but the next, Tar- ¦fluin smothered her, or did something or another ¦•to her immediately, without saying a word about it, much to the satisfaction of the audience. The public were greatly prejudiced against the establishment, and assisted, no doubt, by the emissaries of the rival theatre, the play, on its first representation, made three or four narrow escapes ; greatly to my annoyance, for, independ- •ent of my interested motives, I had a warm feeling in favour of the author, both for his tal ent and amiable deportment. But Kean was the Atlas of the night, and took the whole play on his shoulders; his assumed folly elicited the first general approbation from the house, and his speech to Titus ending with " Tuck up thy tunic, train those curled locks To the short warrior-cut, vault on thy steed : Then scouring through the city, call to arms ! And shout for liberty !" caused John Bull to shout too with all his might : in fact, he always does shout when liber ty's mentioned, whether because he thinks he's the possessor of the blessing, or " wants to," as the Yankees say, I know not. The oration over the body of Lucretia was the most heart-thrill ing, pathetic appeal to the passions I ever heard: equal in solemn beauty to his manner of bid ding farewell to the attributes of war in Othello, which never was spoken by any actor but him self as Shakspeare conceived it. At this time Le Thiere's large painting of the Judgment of Brutus was exhibiting at the Egyptian Hall, Piccadilly, and being the work of a Frenchman, everybody, of course, went to see it. The last scene was grouped exactly after its manner; Le vivant tableau had a most happy effect, and the play, to my great delight, after all its struggles, was announced for repetition amid universal approbation. In defiance of its almost unprecedented suc cess with the public, nearly the whole newspa per press seized their dissecting-knives to cut up it and its author; columns were filled with extracts from obsolete dramas, which Payne had (used for his purpose with all the freedom of an old acquaintance ; though scarcely one actor or playgoer in fifty had ever heard of, or read them, with the exception of himself, and those cross- examining critics; one long and able article, I remember, was wittily headed : " The labour we delight in physics Payne." At all .events, he deserved higher praise than the compiler of Shakspeare's play of Richard the fThird, as it is called, for out of far inferior ma terials, he placed in the front rank of public opin ion an excellent tragedy, on a subject four or five ¦ authors of celebrity had failed to make dramatic ; revived the drooping laurel on the brow of Kean, and with his overwhelming assistance saved Drury Lane Theatre at that time from total ruin. CHAPTER XVI. " Love's very pain is sweet ; But its reward is in the world divine, Which, if not here, it builds beyond the grave." Shelley. If you were to listen to and believe half the gruntings and grumblings of the peevish atoms who inhabit this " wretched world," as they call it, you might be led to imagine they were most anxious to "shuffle off this mortal coil." This goodly frame, the earth, is described by them as a "steril promontory," "a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours ;" that man delights not them — " no,- nor woman neither !" as Hamlet says ; and they try to persuade you and them selves that any change must be for the better. And yet I never saw one of these "discontented papers" who didn't use " the little left of strength remaining," in struggling with the grim tyrant when it came to the awful pause. Now I be lieve that there are quite sufficient delicious lit tle inventions for our gratification to amply keep pace with all " the natural shocks that flesh is heir to," and among them, can any one be more delightful than the unexpected renewal in manhood of a sincere boyish friendship ? This I experienced in an unushered visit from George Mary on. He had been a midshipman in the navy, and at the close of the war, had been left with a bul let in his body to remind him of his youthful folly, and a very superior education for his fu ture support ; his brother was an artist with con siderable talent, and together they had establish ed an academy for young gentlemen at East Lane, Walworth. My dear boy Joe, who al ways loved everything and everybody his father admired, took a great fancy to my sworn friend, and he was intrusted to his care as a pet and "parlour boarder." Each succeeding Sunday they paid us a visit ; but my uncertain engage ments at the theatre deprived me, for some weeks, ofthe power of absenting myself so far from its purlieu. But the death of GLueen Charlotte, | causing the establishment to be closed till she was enclosed in the vault at Windsor, among her poor relations, gave me an unenviable holy- day — '" no play, no pay" — and on a fine day af ter dinner, I set off to walk to Walworth, which I understood to be only two or three miles dis tant. All my life I have suffered great incon venience from the absence of the faculty of re membering names. Once, in playing Lazarillo, in " Two Strings to your Bow," I insisted that my name was Pedrillo, to the great amusement of the actors. Calling at the stage door to look for letters, I inquired of West, the messenger of the house, my shortest route to Wandsworth instead of Walwortji. " Why, sir," said this experienced directory, "it's a pretty good walk to Wandsworth — but it's a straight line. Your best way will be to go over Westminster Bridge ; and you'll find dozens of coaches will set you down there for a shilling or eighteen-pence." I did as he advised, and, soon after passing the Marsh Gate, I was overtaken by a long four- horsed stage, with "Wandsworth" named on its end, as its place of destination. I hailed the driver, and took a seat by his side. As he was 40 THIRTY YEARS not able to give me the desired information, when we reached the village I alighted at the first tav ern, and requested to be directed to East Lane,' and Mr. Maryon's academy. " I knows of no Heast Lane," said the land lady — I suppose, for she was very fat — " but some calls this Heast Hend, I'm sure I don't know for what ; and there's Mr. M , he's a harchitect, and keeps a sort of a 'cademy. He teaches jome young men to draw churches, and build 'ouses, and such like, I believe." " That's the very man, madam," said I. I thought of his brother, the artist, and the name (which I purposely suppress, for fear, even at this distant date, of creating a difficulty between an elderly lady and gentleman, if they are still alive) was as much like Mar-yon, as Mar-von is, as she pronounced it. According to her di rection, I entered a small garden, and rang the bell at the door of a handsome house, standing back from the road. After waiting a reasonable period, I, repeated the summons more energeti cally, and in a few seconds I heard a female voice say, pettishly, " That boy is never in the way;" and the door was instantly opened by — Anna ! I caught her in my arms — I was afraid of her falling, and, if she had, she would have hit her head against the foot of the stairs, for the passage was not more than eight feet long, and she was standing on the inner edge ofthe mat — a little, fat man, and a maid-servant, made their appearance — but how they got there, Heaven only knows ! — and, with their assistance, I pla ced her, senseless, on the sofa in the parlour. After the lapse of a few minutes — passed by me in a delirium, and by the man and his maids in applying, in hurry and confusion, the usual rem edies, all which I remembered as a dream after ward, but then I had not the power to assist — she opened her heavenly eyes, gazed, with a va cant stare, around the apartment, concealed her face with her hands, and burst into an agony of grief. "Anne, my dear, Anne !"— if he had called her Anna I believe I should have knocked him down — "why, Anne, my dear," said the little fat man, looking up at her as she was leaning back on the sofa, with " the heart's blood turned to tears" oozing through her taper fingers over her wedding-ring, and chasing each other, like dew- drops tinted with rose-leaves, down her snowy arm, "what is all this, and who is this gentle man ?" " Wait a minute — don't speak to me !" sobbed . poor Anna; "you shall know all — indeed you shall — I — I'll tell you what a wretch I am — in — in a minute." The little fat man looked at me for informa tion, but I was so stultified with horror and re gret at this promised confession, which would, in all probability, involve the happiness of her I had so purely and innocently loved, that my be wildered thoughts* deprived me ofthe power of words to arrest the "evil communication;" and I stood firmly, with the same apathetic, indiffer ent expression of face and manner, so often seen ih some poor wretch, listening to be told quietly, Jiat he is to be hanged by the neck until he is dead, and his body given to the surgeons for dis sert ion — and which natural display of intense suffering is always placed to the account of un doubted courage and magnanimity of soul, in Newgate Calendar criticism. After a lengthen ed pause, she suddenly rose up, and, with hys terical playfulness, said hurriedly, "The surprise— the — no, not the joy — the as tonishment, overcame me — it's — my cousin you've heard me speak of," and again sunk upon the sofa. "Thank Heaven! I'm her cousin, for the sake of all parties," thought I. "On yes; why, bless me, no wonder!" said the little fat man. " Oh dear, yes, I remember. I'm glad to see you, sir. I caught Anne one day crying over your picture ; she told me that it was her Cousin— why, really, no wonder you were surprised, my dear — she said, I think, you Were shot, or drowned, or something. I'm glad. to see you. She's got your picture yet. There, that's it, tied to the black riband. Show it your Cousin, Anne— well, never mind, by-and-by— I deblale it's an excellent likeness ! a little too fresh-eolonred, perhaps — but, then, the uniform makes a difference. But you must take a glass of wine — Anne will get over it presently— and I'll send for the children." And away the nristy little fellow went. The only balm I could lay to my tortured feelings at that moment was, that he was very fai-^and I knew Anna could not bear fat1— and that he was a head and shoulders shorter than myself. But "the children" made me sick at my stomach; T. felt faint ; and, without my saying a word, Anna answered my look, " Don't despise me. What could I do? You never answered my letters. Everybody said you> were dead, or had married some one else. God help me ! he was rich, and all my friends per suaded — " Me she would have said, and perhaps a great deal more I'm glad I did not hear, but that the door opened, and in came the father, without. doubt, of a little pot-bellied brat, the image of himself, whom he was leading by the hand, and followed by another " like the first," crying", and sliding into the room, with a dirty nose. " Take the baby up, Betsey," said the father. " He won't let me, sir," said the maid. "Ah, he's a spoiled child; but here's a fine fellow," said the foolish-fond parent; " only three- yCars and a half Old ; shake hands with the gen tleman, Joseph; come, that's a good boy — it's, ma's cousin, my dear, that you were named. after." But, thank Heaven ! my namesake wouldn't do anything ofthe sort. " We only breeched him yesterday," said the- father, his eyes half out of his head with delight. And apfetty business they had made of breech ing the little beast. A nankin jacket and trou sers all in one piece, bedizened with mother of pearl buttons all over the top, and daubed with gingerbread over the bottom; and a slit in the back, wide open, to let the little ball of fat in or out, I suppose. " Well, I'm heartily glad to see you — take a glass of wine," said the good-natured man, though I hated the sight of him. " Sir, here's to ye. Oh do, my dear, take a little ; it will do you good — now indeed it will ; well, if you won't, you won't, I suppose. Anne has fretted a good deal about you, I assure you." I took my hat. " Oh, you mustn't think of leaving us so soon. Anne will be quite lively presently, new you've got back. I've often heard her declare she couldn't die happy unless she either saw or heard something certain about you." I moved towards the door. "You mustn't think of going to town to-night}- PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 41 we have plenty of spare beds and you must tell us how you escaped getting drowned, or Shot, or whatever it was. I felt that victory could only be gained by an im mediate retreat ; pleaded that business of the last consequence demanded my presence in London that night, but promised to return early on the marrow, and pass the day with them ; took the privilege of an affectionate cousin to embrace his wife — whispered an eternal good-by— stumbled over the mat, down two steps at the street door, and departed. " She gazod as I slowly withdrew : My path 1 could scarcely discern. So sweetly she bade me adieu, 1 thought that she bado me return." But I didn't, and have Never seen Anita since. CHAPTER XVII. " Say what abridgment have you for this evening ? What mask ? What music 1 How shall we beguile The lazy time, if not with some delight ?" SHAK5PEJ.KE. Stephen Kemble, and his sister, Mrs. Sid- dons, to my poor thinking, shared between them all the genius of that wonderful family. Extra ordinary natural advantages, highly-cultivated minds, and long and intense study of the me chanical attributes so important to an actor, rendered both John and Charles Kemble (but particularly John) for years " the observed of all observers ;" though I, in defiance of general opinion, always considered Charles the superior artist. "An two men ride on a horse, one must ride behind;" and when John Kemble was at the very zenith of his glory, with no shadow within reach of his shade, his brother, with a better voice, and finer face, was playing walking gen tlemen in the same theatre — Alonzo to his Rolla, LeWson to his Beverly, Laertes to his Hamlet, Cassio to his Othello, Prince of Wales to his Hotspur, and so on. How would it have been had their positions been changed? And even in those comparatively subordinate characters, Charles gained a most exalted reputation, and the recollection of his excellence in that descrip tion of business painfully derogates from the merit of any performer in that walk of the drama since. After the retirement of the " great Kem ble," his most prejudiced Worshippers were obliged to admit that Charles was his equal in most characters, and even honest enough to al low his superiority in some, and in a certain grade of high comedy he stood alone — Mercutio and Don Felix, for instance ; and it was witting ly said of his brother John, when he attempted the latter part, "that he possessed too much of the Don, and not enough ofthe Felix." Stephen Kemble's extraordinary bulk depri ved him of the power of entering the arena with his gladiatorial brother; but his Macbeth and Hamlet, by the adorers of mind, not body, will never be forgotten ; and his readings of Milton and the Bible were superhuman. In his latter days, from necessity, not choice, he only per formed Falstaff ; but even in that resource, for his transcendent talent, he stood without a rival. Fawcett delivered the wholesale wit of Fal staff in small parcels, with the pthigent quaint- ness of ToucnstOfle. Bartley would make you believe the knight had. got fat behind the coun ter, while keeping a retail shop in the city.; Dowton made him a very large-sized Sir An thony Absolute. Matthews played it as he did Grunthrum, in "The Fortunes of War," or the very whimsical character in one of his enter tainments, who inquires of everybody, " Am I thinner, think ye ?" Warren had a great repu tation in the part in this country, and a sign for a porter-house was painted in compliment to hi» performance, in Philadelphia; but he, though a very sensible actor, portrayed Sir John as if his. favourite beverage was beer, not sack. Hackett and John Gluincy Adams have paid one another some high compliments lately through the news papers on their true conception of the character,, which I think is highly probable to be the case ;. but when I saw Hackett in the part, some years- ago, I thought it was a very excellent imita tion of Matthews. Stephen Kemble's face and figure were a guar antee for the character he gave himself: "Sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack Falstaff, and, therefore, more valiant, being, as he is, old Jack Falstaff;"" and alive to all the minute beauties of the au thor, he pointed them naturally, without force or effort; and if the cavillers to excellence deny that the performance was perfection, they must admit that it put all competition in the back ground. In private life he was a good man, a ripe scholar, a warm friend, and a delightful companion. During this season the principal green-room was conducted with all the etiquette observed in an apartment designed,for the same purpose in private life, and very properly too. A well-ap pointed room, especially when ladies are part of its occupants, has great influence on the conduct of its visiters in all classes of society, from the magnificent drawing-room down to the splendid " gin palace." There was an obsolete forfeit of one guinea for any one entering it in undress,, unless, of course, in character. This being per fectly understood, was never likely to be incur red. But Alderman Cox, one ofthe committee, in defiance of this well-known rule, dropped in one evening .in a riding-dress, with Very muddy- boots and spurs. Tullia's train getting entan gled in one of them, Oxberry good-humouredly reminded the alderman of the forfeit, which he- appeared to take (and I think did) in high dud geon ; but the next day a note was addressed to- the gentlemen of the green-room, begging them to accept a dozen of very fine Madeira in lieu of the guinea forfeit; pleasantly stating that,, " as he was a very bad actor, he must be a mem ber of the second green-room, if of any, andr therefore, did not consider himself amenable to- the laws of the first." To meet the matter in the same spirit, with this wine, and other, we agreed to give the alderman a dinner at the Freemasons' Tavern, and a non-playing day in Lent was selected. Sir Richard Birnie (the Bow-street magistrate), Mr. Vaughen, M.P. (an esteemed friend of Kemble's), and Fauntleroy (the unfortunate), were invited to meet him;, and the party completed by Stephen Kemble;. his son Harry, Carr, Hughes, Rae, Gattie, Ox berry, Harley, Kean, Munden, Henry Johnston, Irish Johnstone, Russell, and myself. Who> would not like to be one of such a party once a week? But they are nearly all gone now to — " not where they eat, but where they are eaten : a certain convocation of politic worms are e'en at them." "Oh, the mad days that I have spentt 42 THIRTY YEARS and to see how many of my old acquaintance are dead." Kean was observed to refrain from wine, and when urged by his jovial companions to " drink and fill," Alderman Cox said, " In my official capacity" (he sal opposite to Stephen Kemble), " I have excused Mr. Kean. The fact is, I have made a promise for him that he shall spend the evening with my wife, and if lie takes too much wine, I don't know what may be the consequences." The alderman laughed like an accommoda ting — alderman, and we smiled at his very con siderate philosophy. Kean withdrew early in the evening, and the good-natured husband re mained with Kemble and four or five others, myself among the number, till three in the morn ing. This is the same Alderman Cox who was awarded heavy damages in a court of justice against Kean, for destroying his domestic feli city ; and this is the very Mrs. Cox whose in jured innocence " bellowed forth revenge" across the wide Atlantic, and induced the good people of Boston and New- York, in very purity of pur- fiose, to use her name as a watchword to drive rom the stage, as a punishment for some offence given to the audience, " Shakspeare's proud rep resentative." Though not a member of the institution, I received the compliment of being appointed one of the stewards at the annual Theatrical Fund Dinner, at which the Duke of York presided, with Kean facing him as master and treasurer; and the talent of that great actor was even dis played in the simple matter of reading over the list of subscribers. The amount given, or the name of a popular donor, elicited, generally, .some demonstration of approval, according to the sum or character ofthe party, and his pecu liar mode of announcing, " the veteran Michael JKeVk), ten pounds" obtained three rounds of ap plause. In the anteroom, appropriated to re ceive our distinguished guests, I met, for the first time in London, my friend W. J. Dennison, Esq., M.P., who had so unexpectedly assisted 'to help me out of my scrape at Scarborough. Shaking me heartily by the hand, and pointing 'to the bit of blue riband at my buttonhole, he, laughing, said, " You see, Cowell, I told you how it would be." Grimaldi, the celebrated clown, whom I had •never before seen without a red half-moon on •each cheek, was one of the stewards, and I don't know why, but I felt astonished at finding him a ¦very agreeable, gentlemanly-looking man: we formed an acquaintance which lasted while I remained in England. Tom Dibdin, the author and celebrated pun ster, also one of the stewards, arrived very late, on a very miserable-looking nag, and his ap pearance altogether called forth some remarks and merriment from those at the windows. " Gentlemen," said he, on entering the room, "you mustn't judge of anything by its looks; that's the pony that plays the marble horse in Giovanni in London, and can get as much applause as any of you ; it's the celebrated Graphy." " Graphy ! that's a strange name for a horse, Dibdin," said some one. " Most appropriate, though," said the punster. "When I made up my mind to buy a horse, I said, I'll bio-graphy ; when I mounted him I was a top-o-graphy ; when I want him to canter, I say, ge-o-graphy ; and when I wish him to stand still, and he won't, I say, but you au-to- and, therefore, I think Graphy is a very proper name." On the last night of the season, for the benefit of Old Rodwell, the box-book and housekeeper, a gentleman was to make his first appearance as Sylvester Daggerwood, and give imitations of celebrated performers. I had played Frisk, in My Spouse and I, on the same evening, ajd could, therefore, only go in the orchestra to see an excellent performance. He possessed all the ease and familiarity of an old favourite, and his mimicry was admirable. This was no other than the irresistibly comic actor, and emperor of topers, John Reeve, who a few years since paid a visit to this country. The theatre closed in a state of bankruptcy, and was advertised for rent soon afterward ; but I had been prudent enough to provide an expe dient for the vacation, at any rate. Matthews had been most successful in his entertainment called " A Trip to Paris," and had rendered that description of performance popular; and by se cretly robbing him of all his jokes and songs, and localizing them' to suit my hemisphere, I compiled an excellent three hours' olio, called " Cowell Alone," or a " Trip to London." The use of all the theatres in the Lincoln circuit I obtained gratuitously, and my success was enor mous. I played two, but never exceeded three times, in each town to crowded houses ; wisely leaving off to the regret of my friends, with the intention of returning. I merely visited the the atres belonging to my old circuit, with the ex ception of Louth, in Lincolnshire, thirty miles from Boston ; and at the urgent solicitation of my friend Jackson, the printer (whose name was nearly always found at the foot of the last page of schoolbooks for boys of my age), I consented to become his guest for a week, and "show my show" A the town-hall, the use of which was tendered me, through his influence, by the author ities. It is the only picturesque spot in the country, and the inhabitants the most hospitable, jovial set of fellows (if they have not degener ated) that can be found anywhere; here 1 gave three entertainments, and had some difficulty in getting away at the end of a fortnight. There was a sort of moving festival among Jackson's friends while I was there. Smoking was great ly used as an abracadabra, in that fever and ague country; and a certain set had a room, or " snuggery," as they called it, detached from their houses, for the purpose of freely enjoying that fu migating propensity. At about three o'clock one morning 7 was assisting Jackson home, in broad daylight, from one of these noctes ambrosiae, but being full of wine, he couldn't find his way there ; and I, being a stranger, couldn't conduct him in a town so laid out that every house is, in fact, in the country ; and, after a number of efforts to gain the right path, he stopped and inquired of a country boy, " My lad, can you tell me where John Jack son lives?" " Eh," says the boy, " why you be John Jack son." " Hold your tongue, you fool !" said my un steady friend : " I know I'm John Jackson, but where do I live ?" Elliston, that "diverting vagabond" and scourge to actors, had become the lessee of Dru ry Lane, and made me an offer of four pounds a week (it was said he made Munden an offer of eighf)to return, with great inducements as to bu siness—which, of course, I declined. PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 43 1 had got as far as the beautiful little city of Peterborough, and had still two towns untouched, when I received a letter from Mr. Lee, stating that the two young Rodwells, in conjunction With Willis Jones, had purchased the Sans Pa- riel from old Scott, and intended opening it with as strong a company as they could get, and a su perior style of performance ; and offering me an engagement for the light and low comedy, and that if I accepted, to come immediately to town ; which I did. I performed that niglit, and the next I was in London. Scott's fame for manufacturing ink, pink sau cers, and liquid-blue dye, was coeval, and equal ly notorious, with Day and Martin's blacking. At the time when all the little boys and girls in London wanted to be Master Bettys and Miss Mudies, Miss Scott developed strong symp toms of this dramatic disease ; and though her extraordinary talent was undoubted by her fa ther and her friends, it was delicately hinted that the greedy public not only expected intrinsic merit (which she possessed) for their money, but also that it must be hallowed o'er with beauty to secure the first impression. No paragraph, how ever laudatory in its imbodying, would ever ex cite curiosity, the grand point to be obtained, un less it commenced or ended with, " This tran scendent little loveliness, this sylphlike master piece of Nature in her most bounteous mood, whose cerulean beauty conjures the wandering stars, and makes the little cherubim close their wings with envy, to think they are not so fair, last night astonished and delighted an over flowing house ; among the distinguished persons present, we observed Lord Castlereagh in the stage-box, and Mrs. Siddons (as she thought, out of sight) in the corner ofthe orchestra, with tears in torrents bedewing their experienced faces." Or, to bring the position more home to the feelings of old Scott, argued his worldly adviser, " How could you expect to sell your true blue, if not to be equalled, and to imitate this is forgery, were not flourished all over the label in pink and green ?" Now Miss Scott, in addition to some natural •defects, had had the smallpox and rickets unfa vourably ; but as genius comes in all disguises, she really had talent both as an actress and a writer; and as a resource for the world's preju dices, old Scott gutted the back of his warehouse and fitted up a theatre, where his daughter might safely indulge her predilection for the stage. Here for two or three years, assisted by some young people, her pupils, she dramatized and acted away to a subscription parly of her own friends. In all cities there are certain sides of ¦the way in certain streets which the population, from some cause or other, "prefer to crowd, and leave the opposite comparatively empty : just so it is with the location I speak. of; the best in London for a theatre, hundreds of people enter there attracted by the red baize doors and a gal axy of gas, who, when they set out on their ram ble, never dreamed of visiting an establishment •of the kind at all. And old Scott very wisely obtained a license for a minor performance, chiefly provided by his clever daughter; and thinking of her alone, called it the "Sans Pa- Tielt" opened the doors to the chance customers, and made a fortune ; and this was the very place Rodwells and Jones had purchased. I had never seen the interior in Scott's time, mut its origin was still strongly developed. A ¦wide passage under the first floor of a house, leaving room for a small shop, on the right, in the same building, led you to the entrances of the boxes and pit, the latter being placed in the back cellar. Though comparatively small, it was most excellently planned, both for seeing and hearing. The name was changed to the Adelphi ; a good direction, being nearly opposite to the street leading to that well-known terrace on the Thames, where the immortal Garrick once resided, and appropriate in reference to the brotherly managers. The whole of Scott's engagements had been purchased.^ with the property; but ofthe merits of the performers there was no means of judg ing, for they were put far in the back-ground by the new company, with the exceptions of Jones, the singer— the '" Braham of America," as he was foolishly called till Braham himself came, in his old age, to dispute the title — and Gomer- sal, who had been Miss Scott's " amiable foot pad" for years, and he grumbled through the heavy business. Our party consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Chatterly, who had both been great favour ites at the English Opera-house — he in old men, and she in high comedy ladies ; Mrs. Alsop, a daughter of Mrs. Jordan's, but no relation, by blood, to William the Fourth. She had been at Drury Lane, and was highly admired in romps and chambermaids ; Mrs. Waylet, who has been a great favourite in London ever since, played boys, and lively singing characters ; Mrs. Ten ant, long favourably known at the nobility's concerts, the principal singer ; Mr. Watkins, who was in this.country some years, with Bur roughs added to it, the principal serious young man; Wilkinson, the celebrated Geoffrey Muf- fincap — and if he had never played anything else but that and Dogberry, he would have been con sidered a great actor — was the low comedian; John Reeve — a changeable part, and two other characters, suited to his style then — and myself, eccentric light comedy. Beautiful walking la dies, well-dressed young gentlemen, and dancers by dozens. The pieces were all original, and written ex pressly to fit the peculiar talent ofthe principal performers ; and Wilkinson and myself, both overpowering favourites, had the privilege of producing any piece that we thought we could make successful. The elegant little Planche was my chosen author ; but a piece was acted at the Olympic, called " Where shall I Dine ?" in which Wrench had a part called Sponge, to which I took a great fancy, and, by introducing an appropriate song, which I was always re quired to repeat twice, I had the advantage of him — supported, also, by our superior company — and I played it every night, with the excep tion of three weeks, during the remainder ofthe season, and for six in succession, twice on each evening. Wrench was taken sick, and, to save the run ofthe piece being stopped at the Olym pic, and show the magnanimity of the rival es tablishment, after performing the part first at the Adelphi, while our ballet was proceeding I drove to the other house, played it there, and returned in time to dress, and act my character in the farce. As this book professes to be exclusively a his tory of my theatrical life, my domestic joys and sorrows should remain " untouched, or slightly handled ;" but, in common justice, and to show the difference in the hearts of men I am bound to describe, I must in this instance deviate from my allotted path. Mothers and fathers who read 44 THIRTY YEARS this page will readily believe I considered my attendance on the deathbed of my youngest child — a daughter, nearly five years old — paramount to any other duty upon earth, and I absented myself from the theatre. But every pay-day the sum supposed to be due to me was enclosed, with the earnest good wishes and anxious in quiries of Jones and Rodwells^though my sal ary was a large one, the run of two favourite pieces suspended, and my absence from the the atre highly injurious to its interests, and pain fully inconvenient. At the end of three weeks, Maria died; and setting at defiance "all forms, modes, shows of grief," I instantly sent my de sire to be announced, and played the same even ing. Even at this distant period this recital is painful to me, and, for some years after its oc currence, I dared not trust myself to refer to it; but Time, who smooths the wrinkled brow of care, has long since taught me to thank God, in the same spirit that inspired the pretty lines of Coleridge, that " Ere Sin could blight or sorrow lade, Death came with friendly care, The opening bud to heaven convey'd, And bade it blossom there." CHAPTER XVIII. " If thou wert honourable, Thou -wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not For such an end thou seek'st ; as base, as strange. 'j'hou wroug'st a gentleman, who is as far From thy report as thou from honour." Cymbeline. While I was in treaty with Jones and Rod wells for an increase of salary for the next sea son, I very unexpectedly received a note from Elliston, requesting to see me. I found him seated . in his room, enveloped in a morning- gown ; his hair thrust up from his forehead, and standing in all directions, after the manner of a mad poet ; a pen behind his ear, and another in his mouth, and before him, on the table, a quire or two of scribbled paper, and a folio edition of Shakspeare, open at King Lear, which he in formed me he was revising, and intended to place upon the stage " in a garb 'twas never dressed before." In his bland and most insinu ating mahner, " he regretted, with all his heart and soul, that such enormous talent should be Wasted at .a petty minor theatre— the Sans Panel." " It's called the Adelphi now," said I, inter rupting him. " I know it, my dear sir," he con tinued : " these young men have called it the Adelphi; but old True-blue's connexions, and the apprentice boys, who constitute the audi ence, will see them d— d before they call it any thing but the Sands Parill, and look Upon an actor, no matter what talent he may possess, as a Sands Parill player." After pointing out the degradation attending belonging to a minor thea tre, though he had conducted one for years, that " best of cut-throats," who had "a tongue could wheedle with the devil," induced me to sign an engagement for three years, at the same salary I was receiving at the Adelphi, to commence the Monday after Passion-week. The description pf business I was only to be called upon to sus tain was named in the following form: "All such parts as are usually played by Messrs. Munden, Dowton, Knight, Oxberry, and Harley, or other performers holding the same grade in the profession." This unexpected arrangement greatly annoyed my friends Jones and Rodwell, who produced the articles drawn as I wisnetf„ and only wanting signatures, and all parties re gretted the hasty proceeding. But they prophe sied, from Elliston's dishonourable reputation, that he would be sure to break the engagement, and if he did, I promised to return to them. Among many verbal inducements held out to> me by Elliston (whose powers of persuasion amounted to fascination), he suggested that I might always command a few days, or a week, to take a trip with my entertainment, and so in crease my salary, and relieve the treasury. "As," to use his own words, " I shall not bring you out till Harley goes to the Lyceum, which doesn't open till June, and then I'll place you so- carefully before the public, that that prince of impostors will never want to come back again."1 It so happened that Crisp, the manager of the Worcester circuit, made me an offer to go to» Chester for three nights, in the race week, com mencing on Easter Monday, for which he of fered me twenty pounds, and to pay all my ex penses there and back. Fully relying on my services not being required at Drury Lane, I ac cepted the proposal, and, as a mere matter of form, mentioned the arrangement I had entered into to Elliston. " You can'tgo, sir," said the barefaced cajoler. "Why, sir," 1 replied, " you yourself pointed out the advantage to the treasury my occupy ing as much of my time elsewhere as possible would be between this and June." " Why, so I did," said he : " that's all true enough ; but if you refer to your articles, you will find that permission for your absence must be first had and obtained in writing, and I don't. think proper to write ; for," continued he, in a very important tone, " I find the interests of the theatre demand that I should immediately bring- you before the public, and I intend to produce ' Blue Devils' on Thursday next, with a powerful! cast, and you must make your first essay tins- season in the part of James !" The man's style was so bombastically comic, that to be angry, or even refrain from laughing, was impossible; but I never asked for leave of absence afterward. Though I generally; play ed excellent business — for, for the sake of annoy ing Munden, Harley, and others, he'd frequent ly cast me into parts they had a better claim to — 1 still had my share of disagreeables, though al ways carefully kept within the letter of the law j for, secure in my engagement at the Adelphi, which was purposely kept open, I was rather desirous than otherwise that he should "tear the bond." At length he cast me for Aruns, ini Payne's play of Brutus, and I remonstrated. " Sir, this part of Aruns must .surely have been sent to me by mistake," said I; "it was- originally played by Mr. Yarnold, or some sec ondary young man, without any pretensions to» comedy." " That, my dear sir," said he, in his soft, sooth ing manner, "was a great oversight in the man agement; its being given to the serious yonng- man you speak of was a great injury to the play, which is a very dull, tedious affair, at any rate, and this little bit of delicious comedy will be a great relief to its monotony." " Comedy, sir !" said I : " my dear sir, read the part; there is not a comic line in it." " I know it," said he, calmly, " I know it ; the author has left the character entirely to the actor, as he has every part of the play ; who could tell what Brutus was meant to be, if Kean didn't PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 45 act it? This part is intended as a comic relief, such as Shakspeare desired Oswald to be in King Lear; only this is infinitely more capable of effect, and in your hands 'twill be irresist ible." Thus assured as to its comic capabilities, for the sake of the mischief, I learned the few lines. On the night, I dressed myself, with the assist ance of the wardrobe-keeper, who entered into the joke in the most outre manner possible, and k;ept out of sight till the very moment I was wanted. Kean not being at rehearsal, was un prepared to meet a comedian in the character, and when I ran down the stage, after the man ner of Crack or Darby, in the burlesque dress, he burst into an uncontrollable laugh, in which the audience heartily joined, and after gabbling over the few lines, to which Kean couldn't reply, I made a comic exit at the opposite prompt side, amid yells, shouts, hisses, and applause, and the first person I met was Elliston. " You can take off your warrior's dress, sir," said he, with a half laugh, for he was as fond of mischief as I was ; " we'll not trouble you any farther ; Mr. Russell will finish the part." " You know you told me to make it as funny •as I could," said I. "Yes, that's very true," he replied, "but I didn't expect you to make it so d — funny." And Russell retained the part for the remain der of the season. A burletta, called Giovanni in London, founded ¦on the pantomime of Don Juan, had been drama tized in rhyme by Monerief, and produced by Elliston some time before, when he had the Olympic, with great success ; and to the great astonishment of the old school, this illegitimate manager had it rendered into prose, and some additions made to it, for Drury Lane; engaging the fascinating, andmuch-wrongedMadame Ves- tris, to represent the gay seducer. And the number of hard male hearts she caused ta'ache^ during her charming performance of the charac ter, I am satisfied, would far exceed all the fe male tender ones Byron boasts that Juan caused to break during the whole of his career. Har ley was cast Leporello, and I was desired to un derstudy it, and left out of the piece ; but at the first rehearsal; Oxberry and Knight both refused the parts allotted them, and Oxberry's was given to me — " Mr. Porus, a coaehmaker," without one redeeming line, and on the stage, with little to do all through the piece. I remonstrated, but was answered that it was according to the spirit of my engagement; that it was Mr. Oxberry's part, or such as he ought to play, and that, for his refusal, he had been forfeited; and that, if I declined the character, my n ight's salary should be stopped during the run of tbe piece, though the fulfilment of my articles would still be claimed. For an ambitious actor to have to play an objec tionable part for one night is bad enough, but he can grumble through it, and forget the annoy ance in the morning; but every night in the week, for months, to be so afflicted, is putting patience to a severe penance. Every scheme I could invent to distress the performers, so that I might be taken out of the piece, failed ; in fact, rather rooted me more firmly in my disagreeable position. Madame Vestris had to sing a very long song, to the tune of " Scots wha' ha' wi' Wallace bled !" which was always encored, and to which I had to stand quietly, by right, and listen; but I made up my mind I would get clear from that nuisance, by "cutting mugs" at the musicians, and making the people in the front of the pit giggle all through the song; but, to my horror and disappointment, when we came off, the dear kind soul, instead of being angry, as, I wished and expected, said she thought " it was extremely comical, and begged I'd do it every night." Harley was the only one I succeeded in annoying; I could give an excellent imitation of him, and by speaking outside, and going down the stage after his manner, I got the recep tion intended for Leporello and when he came on, the audience, for lear of being again taken in, took no notice of him at all. The first night I even deceived his mother and sister, and got, the first and last approbation I ever received from them, I'm quite certain. After about five weeks of this never-likely -to-end vexation, I consulted my friend Rodwell, and we agreed to have two guineas worth of Chitty's opinion, the celebrated '' Chamber counsel, and he gave it decidedly as his conviction that the article was rendered void; and relying on this authority, Rodwell bound himself to keep me harmless, and I signed and sealed for the Adelphi, on my proposed terms, for three years. Rodwell retained Adol- phus as counsel in the event of an action, and Elliston was apprized of my leaving the theatre according to law; and after some preliminary forms, meaning nothing, I suppose, the affair was dropped. Elliston was a magnificent actor and delight ful companion, but a most unprincipled man: his " Liar" could only be equalled by his " poeti cal prose" off the stage. When manager of the Olympic, an actor by the name of Carles, who was an overpowering favourite with the audi ence, had been discharged, in consequence of intemperance, and, of course, he stated to his friends that he had been shamefully ill used. The frequenters of the Olympic, in Elliston's time, were a very different class of persons to the elegant audience Madame Vestris, in after years, attracted there ; and they, with fellow feel ing; sympathized with his supposed injuries ; for though he told the truth, all his offence was " only taking a drop too much ;" and a most pow erful party was arrayed, one evening, to demand his reinstatement, and Carles took a seat in the pit to await the joyful result. When Elliston appeared, he was greeted with one universal shout of "Carles! Carles! engage Carles! let's have Carles ! Carles ! Carles ! Carles, or no play ! Carles ! Carles !" When, with his hand on the spot the uninformed in anatomy imagine the dwelling-place of the heart, and a face express ing veneration and submission, which he pos sessed such unequalled power to portray, he, in action, entreated silence, and with all the un hesitating bluntness of truth, he burst forth with pathetic energy, " My best, my warm friends ! this ebullition of feeling in behalf of one you suppose to have been wronged shows the nobleness of your na ture, and I adore you for it :" intense silence. " The man who would hesitate to stretch forth his utmost might to rescue from the bitter fangs of oppression the object of tyranny and persecu tion, is unworthy to enjoy the blessings of that liberty for which our forefathers fought and bled !" loud applause, and one little " huzza" from an apprentice-boy, nearly out of his time, in the pit. " I loved that man," pointing to Carles : " oh ! how I loved him ; I idolized his tran scendent talent, and took him to my heart like a brother:" here he produced a white handker- 46 THIRTY YEARS chief, and several gentlemen were heard to blow their noses in the gallery. " To my poor think ing, he appeared the moving picture of all that could adorn humanity ; he would, to be sure, get a little tipsy sometimes:" here there was a slight murmur among the audience; "but I al ways looked upon it as an amiable weakness — we all get tipsy sometimes — / do :" here there was an acknowledgment of the fact in the shape of a little laugh. " But for the last week" — here he looked directly at Carles — " he has been in a continual state of intoxication, and has never been near the theatre." Carles rose from his seat. " Down in front! hat's off! down in front !" was declared in a voice as double as the duke's, and Carles sat do wn, and Elliston continued, with a thick voice, and hurried manner: "And on going to his lodging this morning, to coax him to return, which I have often done before, judge of my horror and astonishment when I found his wife and children starving for the want of the common necessaries of life :" here some one in the gallery was imprudent enough to shout out, " Carles hasn't got no wife !" but a uni versal cry of " Pitch him over !" prevented any farther remarks from that gentleman, and Ellis ton proceeded : " His lawfully wedded wife, the most lovely, thin young creature I ever be held, whom this villain" — pointing at Carles in the pit — "had torn from her fond, gray-haired father's arms, to bring to misery, and leave her to perish for' want: the infant at her breast screaming for the nourishment the starving mother couldn't give; the little ones, four lovely boys, clasping my knees and shrieking for bread ; and in the corner of the room lay his in fant daughter, the most lovely, angel form I ever beheld, a frightful, distorted corpse, too horrible to look upon, who, the day before, had died for want of food." Here there was a general mur mur round the house, but Elliston interrupted its explosion by continuing, "I instantly sent for food for the little ones, and with the sum this villain," looking at Carles, and blubbering, " could easily have earned, I provided a coffin for the little cherub, and only half an hour ago I returned from the funeral. Now, I appeal to you as men, as husbands, and as fathers, should I engage this inhuman monster ?" pointing at Carles. " If you say so, he shall instantly be re instated." " No, no !" Carles got up to speak. " Knock him over! out with him! pitch him out !" and a hundred such expressions, issued forth in one enormous torrent, and poor Carles, who never had a wife in his life, nor a child, to the best of his knowledge, escaped, by miracle, from the infuria ted multitude, into the street, and Elliston got peal on peal of applause, and the performance proceeded. CHAPTER XIX. " Oh, gracious God '. how far have we Profaned thy heavenly gift of poesy 7 Made prostitute and profligate the muse, Debased to each obscene and impious use : Whose harmony was first ordained above, For tongues of angels, and for hymns of love ? Oh, wretched me ! why were we hurried down This lubrique and adult'rate age (Nay, added fat pollution of our own), T' increase the streaming ordures of the stage !" DilYDEN. When Stephen Kemble took the government of Drury Lane Theatre, his ambition led him to believe that he could replace the drama on that proud and purely classic pedestal from which. the rude hand of ignorance had hurled it head long; and his refined taste gave him the intel lectual power for the Augean labour, but the kindness of his nature deprived him of the strength of heart necessary to begin the task: dozens of actors and actresses he had remem bered when a boy, grown gray in the theatre, and passed the day of pleasing, he humanely retain ed to choke the outlet of a limited treasury, and thereby fettering the means which should have been applied to furnish material for a market al ways requiring a quick return. His very name, too, contradictory as it may appear at the first. glance, was an impediment to popularity. The exalted station his brother John and Mrs. Sid- dons had achieved, rendered them unapproacha ble to the multitude; this was a heinous fault. The mob must ever have their idol, whether in religion, politics, or the drama, upon familiar- terms ; the privilege of calling them, behind their backs, " Old Sail Siddons," and " Black Jack," was not sufficient ; they must meet them at the Harp, or Finche's, or the Coal-hole, as they could "Charley Incledon," or "Neddy Kean," or they were not content; they therefore looked. up to their splendid talent with awe for its sublim ity, with wonder at its attainment, and with envy, at the feeling distance at which, by comparison, it placed themselves; and,in consequence, tbevulr- gar public worshipped and hated them. Though past the reach of prostration from their " high. estate," every trifle was seized upon with avid ity for the purpose of annoyance. Kemble, in. Prospero, alive to Shakspeare's meaning, that. the smooth current of the language should flow with no grammatic bar to ruffle its enchanted calmness, changed the harsh plural ofthe "ear- piercing" ache, and filled the measure ofthe line with pure poetic propriety. The scribblers by rule seized upon this piece of pedantry, as they called it, to cavil at, and, ridiculous to relate,. every night a portion of the audience, too igno rant to know the patois of St. Giles's was not their mother tongue, whooped, yelled, and shouted at the justly " lengthened line." With such a prejudice existing against these two ornaments, of the profession, no wonder the scions of the race were doomed without mercy to "expire be fore the flower in their caps ;" and, instigated by this feeling, poor Henry Siddons, with every ad vantage of mind and education, was written off the London stage tor no offence but his name-, and, sad to tell, his disappointed ambition helped. to dig his early grave. His amiable wife, too, an overwhelming favourite as Miss Murray,,, suffered from the same cause, and the metropo lis of England lost the adornment of talent infi nitely superior to the overrated Miss O'Neil's. Stephen Kemble, playing only one part, al- ways appeared as a stranger to the audience,,. who valued him merely as the " gross fat man" who could play nothing but Falstaff, and his son Harry was, unfortunately, too nearly fair game to easily escape. The committee, too, had five opinions in every proposed amendment, and, of course, made bad worse, though I must do them the credit to say that, thanks to them, there were more pretty women in the first and second green rooms than any one manager was ever able to collect together again in my time ; among them, the beautiful Mrs. Mardyn, who a short time before, in the Plymouth theatre, was considered incapable of delivering a message ; but at Drury. PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 47 Lane she played four or five principal charac ters during the season, to empty benches, and 'twas said (and 1 believe, for I know the cost of such material) received thirty pounds per week! No wonder the theatre went to ruin, and my esteem ed friend, Stephen Kemble, retired in disgust to his pretty cottage at Durham. Elliston took the reins under very different auspices. He was the lessee, and literally un controlled, and a long and distinguished favour ite with the public; his nature, too, admirably fitting him not to allow old friendships, human ity, or kindness of heart to interfere with his in terests. His theatre, to use his own expression, was not "intended as an hospital for invalids;" all the old servants of the public were, therefore, discharged, or those only retained on salaries graded to the extreme of what their abject neces sities obliged them to accept. For years the manager of the Surrey and Olympic, he brought with him the experience purchased in that school to add to his admitted knowledge of the legitimate drama, and followed by crowds of the utile, who, for the honour of belonging to Drury Lane, would act for little salary, or none at all ; always ready, and possessed, in ari une qualled degree, of the fascinating power of per suading the public to anything he wished, he took the direction of the theatre with the best possible chance of success — for a time, at any rate. His right-hand man was Winston, long associated as the drudging partner with Cole man and Morris, at the Haymarket. He had been disappointed in his hopes of becoming an actor himself, and, with the same acrimony of feeling an elderly virgin hates a blooming bride, he detested the professors of an art he hadn't warmth of soul enough to advance in. It was his province to measure out the canvass and colours for the painters, count the nails for the carpenters, pick up the tin-tacks and bits of can dle, calculate on the least possible quantity of soap required for each dressing-room, and in vent and report delinquencies that could in any way be construed into the liability of a forfeit ; of course, his prey was *' such small deer" that the gentlemen of the theatre wouldn't even con descend to spit upon him ; but Smart, the lead er, who, in the legitimate sense of the word, de served that title, literally did void his rheum upon his face, one night, before the company, which the dastard wiped off, and, " with 'bated breath and whispering humbleness," sued for pardon for some dirty act. In the course of my experience I have noted many such " valuable creatures," as they are always called till they are found out, pinned to the fortunes of a manager; and gen erally they get rich, and their employer gets poor, and, in his tattered authority, exclaims, " How strange it is that I should have been so deceived in that man !" King Lear, as threatened, was produced after loud proclaim of preparation, and the tragedy published as revised by the manager, and the poor " nice-fruit-and-a-book-of-the-play" women were obliged, on pain of dismissal, to add to their ancient melody, " as adapted to the stage by R. W. Ellis1 mi, Esquire !" Full measure was taken of the taste of the Surrev and Olympic audience, in rendering the beautiful play as much like a melodrame as the nature of its action would permit. I wish I had a bill to refer to ; but I remember great credit was advertised as due to the management in correcting the hitherto inaccurate costume, and Kean was clad in a crimson velvet gown, bew dizened with gold buttons and loops down to hip feet ! and Russell, as Oswald, in white silk stoclir ings and the same dress he wore for Roderigo t But the chief dependance of success was placed on a bran-new hurricane on shore, " designed and invented" by somebody, " after the celebra ted picture, by Loutherburg, of a Storm on Land;" but, to give this additional effect, the- sea was introduced in the back-ground, the bit- . lows, painted after nature, " curling their mon strous heads and hanging them with deafening clamours" — trees were made to see-saw back and forth, accompanied with the natural creak !.' creak! attending the operatiou; Winston had hunted up, without any expense to the management, . every internal machine that was ever able to spit fire, spout rain, or make thunder, and to gether were brought into full play behind the en trances. Over head were revolving prismatic- coloured transparencies, to emit a continual- changing supernatural tint, and add to the un earthly character of the scene. King Lear would one instant appear a beautiful pea-green, and the next sky-blue, and, in the event of a mo mentary cessation of the rotary motion of the- magic lantern, his head would be purple and his legs Dutch-pink. The common fault of all man kind is vaulting ambition, and, in the true spirit of that feeling, every carpenter who was intrust ed to shake a sheet of thunder, or turn a rain- box, was determined that his element should be- the most conspicuous ofthe party, and, together,. they raised a hurly-burly sufficient to " strike- flat the thick rotundity o the world," and not a word was heard through the whole of the scene. Kean requested that it might " be iet off easy"' the next night. " I don't care how many flashes of lightning you give me," said he, "but, for- Heaven's sake, Winston, expel your wind and. cut out your thunder." To keep his own name and that of his thea tre constantly before the public, he knew, from. every quack's experience, was most important, . and every means to achieve this object was re sorted to by Elliston. A portico to the front en trance was built on one night by torchlight, and the police reports were continually decorated with a long account of an aggravated case of as sault and battery, committed by R. W. Elliston,. Esq., on the person of a check-taker or an apple- woman. The poor, persecuted Queen Caroline,. about this time had arrived in England to de mand redress for the unmanly accusations brought against her by her husband, and Ellis ton, faking good measure of the weak point in the character of his "friend, George the Fourth," as he always called him, showed his one-sided' loyalty and ignorance at the same time, by- omitting "et regina" at the bottom of the play bills, and leaving " vivant rex." And so the sin gular plural remained for weeks till noticed by the newspapers,, which, perhaps, was what he desired. But this paltry attempt to wound the- feelings of a suffering female, for the dirty de>- sire of pandering to the malignity of her de praved husband, was held in contempt and de rision by every thinking mind, and, I hope, by- even his King among the number. By a succession of degradations, heaped un sparingly on the drama and its professors, her. laid the groundwork of that ruin to which his; followers brought Poor Drury Lane. 48 THIRTY YEARS CHAPTER XX. " Sir, I desire you do me right and justice : 1 am a most poor woman, and a stranger, Bom out of your dominions ; having hers No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance Of equal friendship and proceeding." King- Henry VIII. After leaving Drury Lane there were six weeks to elapse prior to the opening of the Adel phi, but, fortunately for me, when it was first ru moured that I was about retiring from that es tablishment, Moncrieff applied to me to under take the character of Leperello, which he offered to prepare expressly for me, in a new piece called' *' Giovanni in the Country," which he was then dramatizing for the Cobourg. I consented, on ¦condition that my salary should commence im mediately, and that I should have the privilege of resigning before the Adelphi opened, which was readily acceded to ; and on a Saturday night 1 bade farewell to " Old Drury," and on Mon day commenced an engagement " over the wa ter," in my favourite character of Sponge. Glossop was the manager ; a very vulgar, ig norant man. 1 had little to do with him but in the way of business, and he was always ex tremely civil and correct in his dealings where I was concerned. His father was a soap-boiler and candle-maker, and through some specula tions he had made, which appeared most ridicu lous to everybody, had unexpectedly, perhaps even to himself, realized an immense fortune. His son married Miss Fearon, whom I knew at Plymouth as the "English Catalani!" She was the pupil of a violin-player called Cobham, had a delicious voice, and, from having been taught from that instrument, her execution ever retain- e'd the brilliant, articulate character peculiar to the " soul-awakening viol." She was, soon after her marriage, separated from Glossop, and, as Madame Feron, visited this country as a prima donna some years since. His connexion with that lady probably induced him to dabble farther with theatricals, for which he was totally unfit ted, " and the way he made the old man's soap and candles melt was curious," as poor, MDreland would say. The decorations of the theatre were ithe most gorgeous and costly of any in London,; good taste was thrust out of the way to make room for gold, and silver, and brass, and glass, and gas, in all directions, till " the sense ached" at the dazzling profusion. No expenditure was spared in the production of the pieces ; and the house was crowded every night. I was a great favourite, and I passed a pleasant and profitable dime till the day arrived to walk over Waterloo Bridge, and be once more welcomed at my pet 'theatre, the Adelphi. The trial of Clueen Caroline, at about this time, created the most intense and universal excitement among all classes of persons ever ¦witnessed in London during my recollection. There were two parties, equally violent in their opinions — the king's, cruel and vindictive in their accusations; and the queen's, boisterous and vehement in their declarations of her inno cence. It absorbed every Other topic of conver sation ; and the rancour with which either posi tion was maintained severed the bonds of old friendships, and ruffled the social compact round the domestic hearth. Politics, of course, made "confusion more confounded;" the Radi cals took side with the queen, and had a most -overwhelming majority. The particulars of the case " non mi recordo," and if I did, they haye no claim to a place in these pages; suffice it to say, I was one of her most enthusiastic supporters; for, admitting all they brought against her were true, she was a woman, and I always make it a rule, in taste, to be on their side, whether they are right or wrong. In our theatre, both the Rodwells and all the actors were of my opinion, excepting good-natured, foolish old Lee, the stage-man ager, Willis- 'Jones, his father, who was the treasurer, and Mrs. Wayhlt; she declared she thought the queen had acted very imprudently ! ! On the night of her acquittal the excitement was terrific; the military were ordered out, to intimi date the multitude by their presence, and in stantly suppress any treasonable outbreak by the joy-intoxicated myriads who were parading the streets, and rending the air with shouts of tri umph. Our theatre was crowded, and it sp happened that in the first piece some fifty su pernumeraries were employed. Highly elated by the success of my party, I met these fellows, ready dressed for the stage, awaiting the com mencement of the performance ; and, without thought, in the fulness of my feeling, I proposed " Three cheers for the queen!" which was instant ly given, with due dramatic precision, and re sponded to nine times by the audience, in a voice of thunder! All the actors rushed upon the stage, dressed and undressed, and old Lee, the stage-manager, in his morning-gown; but no remark was made, and, delighted at so excellent an opportunity of expressing my joy, I proceed ed to dress for the performance. At the conclu sion of the first act, there was a universal cry for " God save the Clueen !" The number and temper of the audience were tools too dangerous to trifle with, and old Lee, who was foolish enough to adore the king, and, in consequence, hate the queen, had to address them in his " of ficial capacity ;" after, in his usual style, stating that he was instructed "by Messrs. Jones and Rodwell to inquire their pleasure ?" and being answered by a thousand voices, " trumpet- tongued," that they wanted "God save the Clueen !" he went on to say that "we agnize no anthem called ' God save the Clueen,' but if it be the wish of the audience, at the end of the first piece, the company will sing ' God save the King.' " As he had stated, the whole ofthe la dies and gentlemen (as is usual on such occa sions) appeared at the appointed time, and Mrs. Tennant commenced the first verse, amid some interruption by the audience, " God save great George, our king ; Long live our noble king ; God save the — " " Clueen !" I shouted with all my might. The effect on the actors and audience was electrical, and peal on peal of applause drowned the hear ing of the termination of the verse ; the second was intrusted to Jones, now of the Park, who, in a very gentlemanly manner, paused for my " Clueen!" some followers of my own and the audience joined in the chorus according to my reading, and after an encore, either I or the " anthem," as Lee called it, got nine rounds of applause. Not a word was said by the manage ment; Rodwells appeared delighted ; and Lee's opinion no one considered worth looking at; but, before the pay-day came, I heard it rumour ed that I was to be forfeited a week's salary, and my participators in the treason, whom I had seduced from their allegiance, were to be pun ished in proportion ; 1 was, therefore, prepared for a defence, and proposed we should all go in a body to the treasury, and that I should enter PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 49 alone, and endeavour to obtain a mitigation of the sentence. When I presented myself, Mr. Jones, an amiable and most gentlemanly man, ¦addressed me in the following manner .- " Mr. Cowell, I assure you it is with feelings of the deepest regret that the management con sider it a duty they owe themselves to mark, by the highest penalty in their power, the most un paralleled breach of decorum ever committed within the walls of a well-regulated theatre. Of the correctness of this charge against you you must admit the justice ; and of the offence itself, I have no doubt your calm good sense has long -since made you both sorry and ashamed." Here was a loophole for me to sneak out of, but, heartily despising such means of escape, I ¦replied, " You are greatly mistaken, sir, if you imagine that my conduct was influenced by any thing but a cool, deliberate feeling of a right I had, as an honest man, to unite my poor voice ¦with thousands to rejoioe at the escape of a wretched lady from her malignant oppressor." " Sir !" said he, with some warmth, "you and 1 hold very opposite opinions on that subject, and, however romantic yours may be, the thea tre was no place to express it in." "Sir!" said I, with equal temper, "my ro- unantic feeling in the cause of an injured woman will ever cause me to set at defiance any arbi- irary law oppression can ever invent; and there ¦is no, admitted one, in any theatre, under which my supposed offence can be comprehended." " Why, I admit," said he, hesitatingly, " that there is no specified rule, but you are aware the management has the power — " " Yes," interrupting him, " they have the pow er over those — " " But, my dear Mr. Cowell," said the kind old man, not allowing me to end my angry sentence,1 ¦"if your feelings were so violent in the cause, why didn't you control them till after the per formance, and then give vent to them in tbe street?" " So I did !" I replied : " I assisted some hack ney-coachmen to break old Lee's windows, and made him light up, in spite of the love he bears to George the Fourth. But, sir, instead of con demning this ebullition of mine, it ought to be applauded as an act of policy ; for, if the singing of ' God save the king' had been persisted in, the exasperated public would have possibly destroy ed the theatre." " Well, sir," said he, firmly, " I would rather the property had been razed to the ground than that an expression of partisanship so different from my opinion should be bruited abroad. I think very differently, though quite as enthusi astically on the subject as you do ; the friend ship of many I hold dear would be jeopardized by my allowing such a wanton abuse of deco rum to pass unnoticed ; I therefore must, in self-defence, retain your week's salary ; but no doubt your general anxiety to forward the in terests of the establishment will soon give the management an opportunity of justly restoring the sum." "Sir, I shall deeline receiving it in any shape but as a right !"' I replied. " Understanding that this stretch of power was to be assumed, I pre pared for the Times newspaper this little para graph, which, to prove how anxious I am to ex onerate you from any participation or approval of my conduct, I'll read to you." And I produ ced the following: " UNPRECEDENTED CKTJELTY AND OPPRESSION. E — On the night our beloved queen was acquitted of the vile and infamous charges that were fabricated to achieve her ruin, a poor actor, in the fulness of his heart, substituted ' queen' for ' king' in a ful some son° the overstrained loyally of the managers of the Adelphi Theatre endeavoured to thrust upon the patience ofthe audience, and for this heinous of fence, in their opinion, these lawmakers have taken from him his week's wages, and his only means of support for a wife and large family of children." " Why, surely, Mr. Cowell," said the old gen tleman, placing his spectacles on his forehead, and leaning back in his chair, " you never in tended to publish such a mischievous article ?" . " Most decidedly I do, sir," I replied. " In yesterday's New Times, that queen's scourge, as it's properly called, there's a very mischievous article at my expense, which / know emanated from the theatre, for the expression, that lamas illegitimate in my politics as lam in my acting, is the very words Lee appeared so tickled to have hit upon, when I confessed to breaking his win dows." " Well, Mr. Cowell," said the good old man, " I see 'tis vain to convince you of your error — there's your salary — destroy that foolish paper, and let us forget the circumstance." " But there are others implicated," said I. " Oh, never fear," said he, " I shall not men tion the subject." We conspirators met on the stage after re hearsal, and gave three loud cheers, but " named no parties." My engagement at the Adelphi being for three years, with a probability of a lease, renewable forever if I pleased, I was desirous of establish ing myself in some other theatre for the summer months. Glossop offered me an increase of salary, provided I would remain the whole sea son ; this, of course, I couldn't consent to. Mor ris made me an offer for the Haymarket, which he intended to open that season by himself, which I accepted ; but in arranging the points of business, he stated the opening play was to' be the " Belle's Stratagem :" Dorecourt, Charles Kemble;, Flutter, Richard Jones; and I refused, very foolishly, to open in Courtall, and ended that affair. I had made up my mind to another trip to Lincoln with my entertainment, when, at the ssyenth hour, I received an offer from Will iam Barrymore, the author and stage-manager for Astley, to undertake the principal character in a magnificent equestrian drama, called " Gil Bias," he was preparing. To obtain admitted talent in those days, a high price had to be given at a minor establishment; and Astley, following the example of the Adelphi, and the fashion of the time, had already engaged Henry Johnston, and Mrs. Garrick, a delightful singer, from the Haymarket. Astley's always opened on the Easter Monday, and we closed in Passion-week, and their season ended about the time the Adel phi commenced. The ti me suited me exactly ; the salary was unexceptionable ; I should probably have to play but the one part all the season, and, in consequence, no rehearsals. I therefore made the engagement, and with the assistance of a jackass, caparisoned like a mule, with false ears and a tail, for he had been " curtailed of his fair proportion" of either to make him some times .look like a pony, I was carried up hill and down dale as the renowned Gil Bias, with great success. 60 THIRTY YEARS CHATER XXI. " Poins. Come, your reason, Jack — your reason. " Falstaff. What, upon compulsion ? No : were I at the strappado, or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on compulsion. Give you a reason on compulsion ! if reasons were as plenty as blackberries, 1 would give no man areasonupon compulsion, I."— First part of King Henry IV. Sterne says, in one of his sermons, " There are secret workings in human affairs, which overrule all human contrivance, and counter plot the wisest of our councils, in so strange and unexpected a manner, as to cast a damp upon our best schemes and warmest endeavours." Some such a " secret working" induced me about this period to be most anxious to bid " my native land good-night." Oxberry was publishing an edition of plays, with portraits of the principal performers ; his engraver lived immediately opposite to my lodg ing, and when he had business with him he gen erally paid me a visit. He was in some trouble one day in consequence of his not being able to procure a likeness of Charles Kemble, in Romeo, for which the publication of the tragedy was de tained, and though I had never spoken to Charles Kemble in my life, his face was so " screwed to my memory," I undertook to make a drawing. He stayed to dinner with me, and during our conversation while employed upon the sketch (which was published with my name as the artist), he happened to mention that Stephen Price, the American manager, was a constant visiter of the, Drury Lane Green-room, intro duced by Wallack, who had been to the United States, and went on to say that he had made him an offer to cross the Atlantic. " Upon this hint I spake." " By Heaven, Oxberry, that would be the very thing for me." . " Why, that never entered my head," said he — he knew my reason ; " but how will you be able to manage with your engagement at the Adelphi? Price will jump at you, for to get a comedian is the principal object of his visit to England." "Why, Rodwell and I are old friends," said I, " and the management collectively have a warm feeling towards me, and under the circumstances, I have no doubt of their consent ; at all events, if this American and I agree, I'll go at any risk." " Oh, of that there is no danger," said Oxberry, " and I'll see him to-night, and name you to him ; he's a devilish pleasant fellow, when you get used to him, but his manners are coarse in the extreme ; if he is a fair specimen of the Yankees, they must be a d— rough set. But they say he's very rich, a counsellor, and a colonel in the army, and the devil knows what. He's the Mr. Harris of America, and owns all the theatres in the United Slates!" On the following day I got a note from Stephen Price, requesting that I would breakfast with him at ten o'clock the next morning. He lodg ed in Norfolk-street, in the Strand. The door was opened by a servant-girl ; in answer to my inquiry, she said, " I'U see," and in a minute a negro man appeared, and showed his own teeth and me into the parlour, where a cloth was laid for breakfast. In a short time he returned to say, "Mr. Price would be glad to see me up stairs." I was conducted to a chamber; and on the bed, with his feet wrapped in flannel, and his body in a wad ded silk morning-gown, lay Stephen Price. In a peculiarly distinct, drawling manner, which, till you got accustomed to it, had a very singu lar effect, he saidthe usual civil things on a first meeting. The hesitency in his style of delivery didn't convey an idea that he was waiting for words, for he appeared a very well-informed man ; but rather, that he was weighing the value of each, and its probable consequences, before he gave it utterance. As some one remarked of him, " Stephen Price is not a man to eat his. words, but he always chews them well up before he spits them out." Of his person no opinion could be formed, in consequence of its attitude- and costume ; his countenance was anything but what would be called good, though capable of" an extremely agreeable expression ; small, bright,. mischievous eyes, an abominable nose — looking like a large thumb very much swollen, and near ly "coming to a head," but decision and firm ness strongly marked around his mouth; his- appearance and manner were greatly at vari ance, for he looked like fifty, and talked like- twenty. " I must apologize to you, Mr. Cowell," said) he, "for asking you to take your breakfast irr my bedroom; but after calling in at Astley's to- see you, Jeemes Wallack and myself finished ther evening at Vauxhall, and I didn't get home till! four this morning; and the cons'quence is I caught cold, and have got a fit of the b — gout — I'm very subject to the d — thing. But Wal laces the d — b — I ever met with— nothing ever hurts him." I, of course, was exactly of his way of think ing. " Mr. Oxberry informs me, sir," said he, " that you have a desire to visit New-Yo-ork." " I have, sir," I replied. " Well, sir," said he, "I'll tell you, cand'dly, that I'm d — if you'll do for New-Yo-ork, if you are not a better actor than you a'peared last night. I'll tell you what 'tis, there's a little b — in the Park Theatre ofthe name of Nexon, who- can play that character quite as well as you can,, and he merely d'livers messages there." "You have, I conclude, then, an excellent company," said I, a little nettled, "on your side the water 1" " A d — deal better company than they have in< any theatre in London," said he, faster than any thing he had said yet. " I have a young man,. a countryman of yours, ofthe name of Simp-son? he's a much better actor than your cel'brateit Jones, somewheres about his size, and the most- industrious b — in the world. I have given him one quarter ofthe Park Theatre, and made him, my stage-manager," looking at me as if to give* me a hope I might get a quarter if I minded my hits ; but I said, as if ending the treaty, " Well, sir, surrounded as you are by such a galaxy of talent, it will be advisable for me to» remain in London ?" " Why, sir," he replied, quickly, " I'll tell you what 'tis: Jeemes Wallack and sev'ral of my friends say that you're a b — good actor, but that you won't act at Astley's. What will you take- to go to New-Yo-ork ?" " Fifteen pounds a week," I replied. " I'll give you ten pounds a week for the first season," said he, " and twelve for the second." "Agreed," said I. " When can you go?" said he. " To-morrow," said I. "Well, sir," said he, smiling, "I'm d— but. you are certainly the easiest man to make a bar gain I ever dealt with." If he had known, however, as much as I did, he would have offered me a guinea a week, and PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. -51 I would have taken it ; but, Heaven be praised ! he didn't, and he continued, " There's an eternal fine ship, called the Tames, sails from London on the first of September, and another, called the Albion, on the same day from Liverpool, in which I shall sail. The only dif- 'rence in the thing is, you get to sea a d — deal quicker by going to Liverpool." I gave the London ship the preference, as more convenient on account of baggage, and tfat I might once more visit my old cruising- ground the British Channel, and perhaps forever bid farewell to the scenes of my boyhood. The terms of benefits, and other important items of the engagement, were pointed out and specified in a plain, honest, business-like man ner. He was to see Captain Charles H. Mar shall, and secure the passages, and have the arti cles prepared for signature, during the little week that was to elapse before my departure. We had a long and extremely pleasant conversation, chiefly descriptive of the country I was about to adopt. His style was peculiarly suited to mi nute detail, and information in that shape, then so interesting to me, was highly entertaining; and, to his honour be it said, I did not detect by experience the most remote exaggeration in any of the matters he named, always excepting the talent of his dramatic corps, and even there " his failing leaned to virtue's side." And upon acquaintance, I found he made it a rule to speak of all, while in his employ, in the most exalted terms of praise, but, the moment they left him, they were "d — impostors and b — scoundrels." The coarse and highly objectionable epithets with which he unsparingly larded his conversa tion were delivered, apparently, so unconscious ly, and, from long habit, were mixed up so mi nutely with his discourse, that by those familiar with him the peculiarity would pass unnoticed. My lamented friend Rodwell met my case with the feeling of a brother, but Jones was out of town, and, without his concurrence, the neces sary form of release from my obligation could not be effected ; but, as " the affair cried haste," he undertook to write to him. As Price very justly said, " Anybody could play Gil Bias as well as I did;" the part itself was little better than a walking gentleman, and the jackass sus tained that part of the character ; and though the author intended we should divide the ap plause, I quietly resigned my share in his favour. I felt, therefore, confident that Astley would be delighted to save my useless and large salary for the next four weeks, but, to my great astonish ment — for I put the cause of my wishing to re sign on that footing — he declared himself more than satisfied with my engagement, and refused, in the most positive manner, to give up my arti cles. To him, of course, I said nothing of my intention of sailing to America. On Friday evening Willis Jones sent for me to the stage door, presented me with a letter, full of kind ¦wishes, from Rodwell, and the documents of our agreement, and we parted — as warm friends al ways part. I complained of indisposition, and Astley, who, unlike his father, was a most gen tlemanly creature — in manner and appearance more like an eminent physician or a clergyman than the manager of a circus — insisted that I shouldn't play ; and some young man, who had been instructed, in case of an accident, to under study the character, took the jackass ride for me, and I packed up my baggage. The next morn ing 1 signed and sealed with Price, was introdu ced to the captain, who was our witness on the occasion, and on Sunday evening I joined the. ship at Gravesend. It was a dark, drizzly, melancholy night — a fair specimen of Gravesend weather and the parts adjacent — no " star that's westward from the pole" to point my destined path, and furnish food for speculative thought; and, after sliding five or six times up and down some twenty feet of wet deck, I groped my way to the cabin. The captain was not on board, and I found myself a stranger among men, for there were four besides myself, or, rather, three, for one was asleep,. I suppose, for he was snoring very loud, in a berth next to my state-room. Such stopped-headed gentlemen are an abominable nuisance, near, or in your dormitory on shore, in harbour, or " caught in a calm ;" but under way on the At lantic, he may breathe as loud and in any way he thinks proper, without inconvenience to any body but himself. Of all gregarious animals, man is the most tardy in getting acquainted; meet them for the first time in a jury-box, a stage-coach, or the cabin of a ship, and they al ways remind me of a little lot of specimen sheep from different flocks, put together for the first time in the same pen; they walk about, and round and round, with all their heads and tails in different directions, and not a baa! escapes them; but in half an hour some crooked-pated bell-wether, perhaps, gives a South-down a little dig in the ribs, and this example is followed by a Merino, and, before the ending ofthe fair, their heads are all one way, and you'll find them bleat ing together in full chorus. Now, in the case of man, a snuff-box, or a mull, instead of the sheep's horn, is an admira ble introduction ; for, if he refuses to take a pinch, he'll generally give you a sufficient reason why he does not, and that's an excellent chance to form, perhaps, a lasting friendship — but to "scrape an acquaintance" to a certainty; and if he takes it, perhaps he'll sneeze, and you can come in with your " God bless you !" and so on, to a conversation about the plague in '66, or the yellow fever on some other occasion, and can " bury your friends by dozens," and " escape yourself by miracle," very pleasantly for half an hour. But in this instance it was a total failure : one said, "I don't use it;" another shook his head, and the third emptied his mouth of half a pint of spittle, and said " he thought it baid enough to chaw." Well, as I couldn't with propriety ask why he "didn't use snuff," and the mandarin-man might be dumb for anything I knew to the contrary, and expect me to talk with my fingers ; and if I had contradicted the last I might, from his appearance and manner, have got into a fight instead of a chat, liqaietjy took a seat at the table, snuffed two tallow-can dles, and took a synopsis of the floating apart ment. There were two horse-hair sofas on either side a table, twelve berths with red cur tains and sea-sick-yellow fringe, and, properly, four state-rooms forward ofthe mizen-mast, one of which Price had engaged for myself and Mrs. Cowell, and the one next to it was used as apan- try. I was speculating as to what kind of hu man beings were shut up in the x'.er two, when my curiosity was half rem j '-\i by a female leading out a beautiful littl-j .oy from one of them. No matter what I Kay ie with men and women, I am always a great favourite with dogs, and cats, and infants of a certain age, and we generally get acquainted in an instant. Be 52 had just gained that delightful period when chil dren think more than they have power to utter; and I love to translate their innocent thoughts. I had been obliged to leave my two dear boys to follow me ; and this little fellow, by reminding me of them, seemed to have a claim to my at fection ; his mother was a simple, amiable crea ture in her deportment, and myself and wife were rejoiced at meeting companions for our voyage so suited to our feeling. She, with art less eloquence, told us that her husband, an Eng lish farmer in good circumstances, had sailed for America more than three years before, and that she had been prevented accompanying him in consequence of the sudden illness of her mother, "who is in heaven now," and, with her beautiful baby, whom his father had never seen, was journeying to her new home in the United States. In the morning the captain arrived, and in troduced me to the gentleman who didn't use snuff, as Mr. Scovell, a part-owner of the vessel ; he was a resident of New- York, and in partner. ship with his brother, a merchant in South-street, but a native of Connecticut ; and after the river in that state, which wanders " his silver wind ing way," the ship was named, and pronounced by him as spelled, the Thames; contrary to the usage of "Full many a sprightly race, Disporting on the margent green" of " father Thames ;" whether " bound 'prentice to a waterman," or "on earnest business bent," all there agree to call it " Terns." The gentle man who shook his head was a Presbyterian cler gyman, ofthe name of Arbuckle, of Pennsylva nia, a most amiable young man. The chaw individual had a sick wife on board, a sufficient excuse for his being very disagreeable ; and I make it a rule never to remember the names of persons I don't think it worth while to like or dislike. My friend with the impediment in his nose was Mr. John Kent, who claimed to be a brother actor; he was engaged by Mr. Price, but I had never been introduced to him before. The captain was Charles H. Marshall, a very good-looking, and very fine fellow, with "no THIRTY TEARS, ETC. drowning marks upon him." The mate was a weather-beaten, humorous "sea-monster;'- upon asking his name, he replied, "If you're an Englishman, and I once tell you my name, you'll never forget it." " I don't know that," I replied ; " I'm very un fortunate in remembering names." " Oh, never mind!" said he, with a peculiarly sly, comical look: "if you're an Englishman you'll never forget mine." " Then I certainly am," I replied. "Well, then," said he, dryly, "my name's Bunker! and I'm d — if any Englishman will ever forget that name !" "All in the Downs the fleet lay moored," as usual; perhaps twenty sail, bound to all sorts of places, and waiting for all sorts of winds, and we were obliged to follow the fashion of that abominable stopping-place ; but the few days' detention gave our small party time to get ac quainted e'er that " The vessel spread her ample sail From Albion's coast, obsequious to the gale." My pet and playfellow and myself were sworn friends ; and 'twas delicious, each night, to listen to him while, with his little hands to wards heaven held, kneeling at his mother's feet, and gating with childish earnestness on her face, made beautiful by the expression of pure piety, repeat in lisping tones, soft and sweet as music at a distance, prayers and blessings on a father he had never seen. On a Saturday night he went to bed apparently well, and the next morning he was a corpse ! he had died of the croup. A fair breeze had sprung up, and orders were necessarily given to unmoor. He was hurried to the burial-ground at Deal. The mother's agony was frightful; and when she saw him placed in "his narrow cell," "Oh! the cry did knock against my very heart !" and the last tear I shed upon my native land moistened an infant's grave. " As one who, in his journey, bates at noon, Though bent on speed," I'll here end the first volume. THIRTY YEARS PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS IN ENGLAND AND AMERICA: INTERSPERSED WITH ANECDOTES AND REMINISCENCES OF A VARIETY OF PERSONS, DIRECTLY OR INDIRECTLY CONNECTED WITH THE DRAMA DURING THE THEATRICAL LIFE OF JOE COWELL, COMEDIAN. WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. IN TWO PARTS. PART II-AMERICA. " So ma-ny particulars may perhaps disgust a philosophical reader; but curiosity, that weikness so com mon to mankind, deserves a higher name when it is employed upon times and persons of which posterity has no other mtfans of forming an opinion."— Chambaud. NEW-YORK: HARPER & BROTHERS, 83 CLIFF-STREET. 184 5. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1843, By Harper & Brothers, In the Clerk's Office ofthe Southern District of New-York THIRTY YEARS PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. CHAPTER I. -*' Home of the free ! Land of the great and good, Whose heritage is glory ! Hail to thee ! Thou oft, undaunted, nobly hath -withstood Europa's best and proudest chivalry ; And, conquering, won a mighty destiny First mid the nations ; and thy flag of light Gleams on all climes, a brilliant galaxy, To guide to Freedom from foul Slavery's might ; Typing thy hero-sons' apotheosis bright," Lewis Foulke Thomas. We left the Downs on the Sth of September, 9821, and, after a tedious and most boisterous passage, on the 23d of October, as the sun "went down into the sea," the welcome cry of " Land, ho 1" from the foretop, cheered the spirits of the mind-tired passengers and worn-out crew. We had a light, fair breeze and fine weather, and we ¦stood boldly on all night. For though " the A. No. 1, copper-bottomed, good ship Thames," as she was rated on the books at Lloyd's, had well- nigh sent " Old Kent and I," parson and all, to the bottom, the captain was "of very expert and approved allowance," and at daylight — for .be sure I was in his watch — for the first time in my life, I beheld the Highlands of Neversink. Marshall and myself had become great friends, and, being most anxious to get to the city, he kind- sly allowed me to take the yawl with four hands, and as Scovill was equally desirous, he accom panied me. After four hours' good rowing we met the tide, and were obliged to make a landing •en Staten Island, about two miles from the Quar antine ground. Leaving the boat in the care of :the people, the owner and myself walked to the Jferry. The steamer Nautilus, which was still puffing and blowing in the same line of business -when I was last in New- York, six years ago, 'landed us at the Battery. Scovill took me to his counting-room and introduced me to his brother, who very sedately, yet kindly, welcom ed me to his country, and their porter conducted me to the Park Theatre. Price was standing on the steps, and as the ship was not yet even a-eported "below," he had no expectation of see ing me, and, in fact, had begun to suspect the ship was below in the genuine sense ofthe word. It was after the time of rehearsal, and Simpson had left the theatre. Price gave me the address of a boarding-house he had kindly provided for me, and, of course, asked me to dinner, which I declined, on the score of having placed myself, as it were, under the conduct of Scovill for the day, and he would, of course, expect me, but promised to be at the theatre in the evening. I returned to the counting-room. Both the merchants inquired if I had seen Mr. Price — how I liked the city. " Wasn't it very superior to London?" and so on; handed me a news paper, turned the top of a candle-box inside out, and begged I would be seated. For an hour or more they continued in conversation, and I to read the National Advocate, every advertisement decorated with a woodcut of little boys pulling on boots, ladies having their hair dressed, and other useful and necessary arts illustrated, on a' sheet of paper about the same size as two pages of the Penny Magazine. I had read it all through once, and got so far the second time as the price for advertising, and "published by Phillips and edited by M. M. Noah," when one Scovill looked at his watch and the other asked the time — they were partners even to a watch — and they both agreed it was the dinner-hour ; took their hats; begged I wouldn't disturb myself; "would be happy to see me at any time; I should always find the morning news," and walked off. During the passage Scovill had been very un well, and very frightened, and, under the cir cumstances, I had been able to render him some very valuable services ; any attention while suf fering from terror or sea-sickness is very apt to produce strong symptoms of gratitude at the time, and 1 don't know what Scovill had not promised to do for me when he got to New- York. But I had a right to expect a dinner ; for soon after leaving the ship in the morning, in conse quence of shipping a spray now and then, and the boat, having been so long out of the water, leaked a little, we were obliged to bail ; at the sight of this operation his heart failed him, and he entreated us to go back ; but upon assuring him that there was not the least cause of alarm, to change the subject of his thoughts, I presume, " Trembling and talking loud," he said, " Of course you'll dine and spend the day with me and my dear brother 1" and I said, "Yes." But I conclude his dear brother didn't calculate there was any advantage to be gained, in a mercantile point of view, by an acquaint ance with a play-actor, and as I was not likely to be of any farther use to my sea friend, the little expense was very prudently saved. Tumbling by accident over such specimens of humanity, on first landing in a strange country, frequently lays the foundation of a lasting prej udice against a whole people. I stood for a few seconds on the threshold of that inhospitable door, " And sighed my English breath in foreign clouds." My acquaintance with Price was too slight to return to him and explain my disappointment, and accept his proffered dinner; and, indeed, how could I tell but that he had also repented of his impulsive civility, and that I might receive 56 THIRTY YEARS a second, and, from him, a more severe mortifi cation ? I had refused to be introduced to the boarding-house Price had selected, preferring that my dear wife should form an unbiased opinion of the necessary comforts required for our new home. There was no human being to my knowledge I was acquainted* with in New- York, with the exception of Barnes, who, I found, was a member of the company ; he had ever been very kind to me while at Plymouth — he used to call me his son — and if I had been, he could not have shown more anxiety to give me every instruction in his power, in my early at tempts at low comedy. But some years had elapsed since we parted, and the Atlantic rolled between the land where' our friendship had been formed, and inviting myself to dinner was rather an odd way of renewing it. I could not tell, too, if change of air, as well as circumstances, might not have an effect on that " charm that lulls to sleep," and give likely cause " to steep his senses in forgetfulness." When we left the ship, Scovill had provided himself with a " hunk" of gingerbread— that is, if a cake of molasses and flour, without spice, could be so called — and myself and the men with some bread and pork, and a keg of water ; nearly all the luxuries the ship could boast of, with the ex ception of some sea-sick ducks, a pig with the measles, and a sheep in a consumption ; for, as the never-to-be-forgotten Bunker said, " It coughs like a Christian, don't it, parson ?" It will readily be imagined that I had a most devouring appetite, for, with the exception of a " bite" in the boat, I had not tasted food since the night before. I had put in my pockets, more for show than service, some thirteen or fourteen English shillings : New- York was then a very different place of accommodation for travellers from what it is at the present day; no oyster-cel lars that you could tumble into at every corner ; "restaurat" staring you in the face in every street ; and coffee-houses, and all sorts of houses, capable and ready to accommodate a stranger. The only two places of the kind in existence then, even when you were directed where to find them, was "Morse's," a very humbly-fitted-up cellar, Where a table-cloth was never seen, and a clean knife only by waiting till the operation was performed, under a store in Park Row, where now, I suppose, there are thirty; and there you could get a fried beef-steak, raw oysters, or soup made of the same material, which at that time I considered sauce for codfish by another name ; and one of a little better class, kept by a French man, under Washington Hall, then the second best hotel in the city. After wandering about I knew not whither, " oppressed with two weak evils," fatigue and hunger, I entered what in London would be called a chandler's shop, put some money on the counter, and inquired if they would sell me for that coin some bread and but ter and a tempting red herring or two I saw in a barrel at the door. "Why, what coin is it?" said a fellow in a red-flannel shirt and a straw hat. "English shillings," I replied. " No," said the fellow, " I know nothing about English shillings, nor English anything, nor I don't want to." I thought, under all the circumstances, and from the appearance of the brute, it might be imprudent to extol or explain their value, and therefore I " cast one longing, lingering look be hind" at the red herrings in the barrel, and turn ed the corner of the street, where I encountered. two young men picking their teeth, for which I. have never forgiven them. The feelings created by the war with Eng land, then long since over, was still rankling in the minds ofthe lower order of Americans, as if it were yet raging, and their hatred of an Eng lishman they took a pride in showing whenever in their power. In every quarrel, domestic or national, it will always be found that the con queror is the last to forget, and generally the last to forgive. The language necessarily used in boasting of success rekindles the fury of a fire the dews of peace should always quench. In England it had ceased to be spoken of, or even alluded to. But, it must be acceded, a war there, or in any monarchical government, cre ates very different feelings (if any at all) from. the "one spirit" which actuates a free and sov ereign people, whose lives, whose fortunes, and whose sacred honour were pledged by their fa thers to defend their homes and liberty, and who^ with one accord exclaim, " United we stand, divided we fall." But in my country, such an event being declared against any power, with a large portion of its inhabitants only occasions re gret, or delight, according to how much it may- interfere with or advance individual interest;. and the combatants themselves, hired to fight, never care for what, nor even inquire the cause of quarrel, but, with bulldog courage, seek the "bubble reputation, even at the cannon's mouth." The turning I had made from the grocery was into a badly-paved, dirty street leading up a slight ascent from the river to Broadway, and at about half the distance, to my joy, I beheld, over a dingy-looking cellar, " Exchange Office. Foreign* gold and silver bought here." I descended three - or four wooden steps, and handed my handful of silver to one of " God's chosen people," and, af ter its undergoing a most severe ringing and rubbing, the (I have no doubt) honest Isracite- handed me three dirty, ragged one-dollar bills,. which, he said, "s'help me God is petter as: gould." As all I wanted then was that they- should be better than silver, my politics at that time didn't cavil at the currency, and I hastily- retraced my steps to the red-shirted herring deal er, and, placing one of the dirty scraps of paper- on the counter, I exclaimed, with an air of con fidence, " There, sir, will that answer your pur- pose ?" He was nearly of the Jew's opinion, for- he declared that it was " as good as gold," and I gave, him a large order, and made my first meal' in the United Slates seated on a barrel, in a grocery ¦ at the foot of Wall-street. The best sauce to meat is appetite, and my herrings and bread and butter put me in a much1 better humour with myself and everybody else.. From information gleaned from my anti-English friend and his customers, I was assured that the- ship would be up by the evening tide, and anchor for the night in the stream, by nine or ten o'clock, and I engaged an owld counthryman to take me on board. Thus relieved in mind and body, I sallied forth again, up Wall-street and through Broadway. The pavement was horri ble, and the sidewalks, partly brick and partly flagstones, of all shapes, put together as nearly as their untrimmed forms would permit. The Park, which Scovill had spoken of with en thusiasm, I found to be about the size of Port- man Square, but of a shape defying any geo metrical term to convey the form of it. It had PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 57 been surrounded by a wooden, unpainted, rough fence, but a storm on the first of September, the power of which we had felt the lull force of, twenty days after, on the Atlantic, had prostra ted the larger portion, together with some fine old buttonwood-trees, which either nature or the good taste of the first settlers had planted there, and the little grass the cows and pigs allowed to remain was checkered o'er by the short cuts to the different streets in its neighbourhood. The exterior of the theatre was the most prison like-looking place I had ever seen appropriated to such a purpose. It is not much better now ; but then it was merely rough stone, but now it's rough cast, and can boast of a cornice. Ob serving the front doors open, I ventured in, and, opening one of the boxes, endeavoured to take a peep at the interior of the shrine at which I was either to be accepted or sacrificed ; but, coming immediately out of the daylight, all was dark as Erebus.- A large door at the back ofthe stage gave me a glimmer of that department, and gro ping my way through the lobby, I felt, at the ex tremity, a small opening, and proceeding, as I intended, very cautiously, tumbled down three or four steps, and was picked up at the bottom by some one in the dark, who led me on the stage. " Have you hurt yourself?" said this im mensely tall, raw-boned fellow, with his shirt sleeves rolled up over an arm the same size from the wrist to the shoulder. " No," I replied, " but I wonder I didn't." " Have you any business here?" said he. " No, nothing particular," said I. " Then you can go out," said he, and he point ed to the opening at the back. I took the hint and direction, and found myself in an alley knee deep with filth the whole width of the theatre. I continued my walk up Broad way, and as I went the hohses diminished both in size and number, and in less than a mile 1 was in the country. On my return, the theatre doors were open, and the audience already assembling. Phillips, the singer, was the " star," and the per formance, " Lionel and Clarrissa." The opera had not commenced, but I took a seat, with about twenty others, in the second tier. The house was excessively dark ; oil, of course, then was used, in common brass Liverpool lamps, ten or twelve of which were placed in a large sheet- iron hoop, painted green, hanging from the ceil ing in the centre, and one, half the size, on each side of the stage. The fronts of the boxes were decorated, if it could be so called, with one con tinuous American ensign, a splendid subject, and very difficult to handle properly, but this was designed in the taste of an upholsterer, and executed without any taste at all; the seats were covered with green baize, and the back of the boxes with whitewash, and the iron columns which supported them covered with burnished gold ! and looking as if they had no business there, but had made their escape from the Co- burg. The audience came evidently to see the play, and be pleased, if they possibly could, with everything; the men, generally, wore their hats; at all events, they consulted only their own opin ion and comfort in the matter; and the ladies, I observed, very sensibly all came in bonnets, but usually dispossessed themselves of them, and tied them, in large bunches, high up to the gold columns ; and as there is nothing a woman can touch that she does not instinctively adorn, the varied colours of the ribands and materials of which they were made, were in my opinion a vast improvement to the unfurnished appearance- of the house. Phillips as Lionefcand Mrs. Holman as Clar rissa, shared equally the approbation of the- audience: the ciirrrent of whose simple, unso phisticated taste had not then been turned awry by fashion, obliging them to profess an admira tion of the enormities of the German and Italian* school, which, in these days of humbug and re finement, they alone pretend to listen to. Simp son was the J essamy. As it happened, 'twas one Of Jones's very good parts. The audience ap peared to back Price's opinion, judging from the applause, but, for my own part, I was of a very- different way of thinking. Barnes was Colonel Oldboy : in vulgar old men, such as Delph or Lord Duberly, he was excellent; but, though. Oldboy is extremely coarse in his language, he is still a gentleman of that school, and, therefore, a character out of Barnes's direct line. It was either the very first or second appearance of my friend Peter Richings, one of the best general- actors now on the continent; he was the Mr. Harman, and I honestly believe he was even more stupid than I was at the same point of ex perience. But for the friendly interference of the amiable Miss Johnston, through his embar rassment he would inevitably have been shut outside the drop at the finale to the first act, and his narrow escape seemed greatly to add to the amusement of the good-tempered audience. Fully satisfied that I had nothing to fear, judging by the way the portion of the perform ance I had witnessed that evening had been ap: proved of, I set off in good spirits to my appoint ment at the foot of Wall-street. The night was very dark, not a lamp was to be seen, save a twinkle from a little light through the closed glass door of a solitary chemist's shop, in the whole distance ; 'twas about eight o'clock, and every store was shut ; nor did I meet more than thirty persons during my walk. Look at Broad way and Wall-street now 1 I found my Irish Charon true to his appointment, but the ship was not expected for two hours at least. I inquired of mine host if I should be an intruder by remaining in his shop, and being answered in the negative,. I ordered some more bread and butter, and a her ring "to close the orifice of the stomach," and took my old seat on a barrel of pickled shad, as it proved to be ; for, after a while, the head slip ped in, and so did the tail of my new black coat,. which I had had made out of respect to the memory of poor Glueen Caroline. To make my self as amiable as possible in the estimation of four or five gentlemen, short of shirt and long- in beard, who may frequently be found in such? places, I treated, " like a man," to two or three- rounds of grog and cigars. I was then no con noisseur in the latter article, having never smo ked tobacco in any shape in my life ; but to act up to the pure agrarian principles I professed, I undertook a " long nine" and a couple of glasses of " excellent brandy," as old red shirt said. On the passage I had never even tasted wine or spirits, though those luxuries were included in- the thirty-five guineas apiece cabin fare. So illy prepared, the "long nine" soon knocked me over as flat as a nine-pounder : I was sick ; " The dews of death Hung clammy on my forehead, like the damps Of midnight sepulchres." I was perfectly in my senses, but was incapa ble of sound or motion, or, I should more proper* 53 THIRTY YEARS ly say, voice or action. In these days the march of improvement in such matters, would have doomed me to the certainty of having my throat cut, then stripped, and thrown into the dock; and the next day a coroner^nquest would have quietly brought in a verdict of-f found drowned," and no more would be said about the matter. But at the untutored period I speak of, they were content to take only my movables, id est, my hat, cravat, watch, snuffbox, handkerchief, and the balance of the dirty dollars. My incapacity to make resistance saved my coat, for I was so lim ber they couldn't get it off whole, and after, in their endeavours, splitting it down the back, and the tail being in a precious pickle, they con cluded it would be more honourable to let me keep it — carried me down to a boat, rowed me off to the ship, and delivered me to Old Bunker, as " a gentleman very unwell." This is " a full, true, and particular account" of •my manner of passing one day out of upward of J£ight Thousand I've seen in the United States. CHAPTER II. •* My name is Pestilence : hither and thither I flit about, that I may slay and smother ; All lips which I have kissed must surely wither, But Death's— if thou art he, we'll work together." Revolt of Islam. The next day the ship got into her berth long 'before I got out of mine, and it was nearly sun down when we drove to our new abode at the -corner of Greenwich and Dey streets. Price had selected a boarding-house kept by an Eng lish widow, considerately thinking our tastes would be better understood by a countrywoman -of our own. It is too late in the day to give ad vice on this subject; but I soon learned that in any dealings in which an English man or woman should properly be the subordinate party, to avoid them as I would a pestilence. Intoxicated with the supposed sudden possession of what is called ¦liberty and equality, they mistake " impudence for independence." To use a homely phrase, "They don't know which way their 'ed 'angs," and their unbridled ignorance, as well as being inconve nient, has often made me blush for my country. This lady had been a lady's maid according to her own account, and, to use her idiom, " Had moved in the first society, till left by her dear hus- •band, who was gone to Abraham's bosom, to keep a ¦boarding-house !" She had two very genteel young women for daughters, who, in London, might have got a living by clear-starching and stitch ing ; here, the foolish mother prided herself upon ¦" their not being able to do anything at all." It was a large house, the lower story occupied as an extensive grocery. The private entrance was carpeted all over, and crowded with house hold furniture; some of it appeared as if it had no business there, but I soon found out it was all the fashion ; for example, there were two di ning tables, one with mahogany leaves down to its ankles, very much in the way, against the wall, and another more so, making believe to get out of it, by being turned up on its tripod leg behind the street door. There were two well-appointed parlours, one for dining and the other for sitting, with sofas, mirrors, and a pianoforte, upon which, I was de lighted to hear, the ladies couldn't play. The apartment allotted for the use of myself and Mrs. Cowell was all over the store and the two par lours into the bargain ; a sort of sized room that any strolling company in England would be de lighted to meet with, in the event of not being able to procure the Town Hall. There were eight large windows — three on one side and five on the other; a little fireplace in one corner, with four bricks, instead of andirons, supporting two or three sticks of green wood, hissing and boil ing to death, and making water instead of fire all over the hearth ; a bedstead, without posts or curtains; four chairs, about twelve feet apart, by way of making the most of them, and a piece of ragged carpet, about the same portable size of those used for little spangled children to dislo cate their bodies on, to a tune on the tambarine, about the streets of London. After starving with cold and hunger, and taking lessons in the Cock ney dialect, whether I liked it or not, for two weeks, I moved to a plain, honest Yankee wom an's — Mrs. Gantley — where I remained till I could procure a house. There is still a remnant of the custom, but then it was universal, for all classes of citizens, tradesmen or otherwise, no matter how advan tageously they were situated for either business or comfort, to change their abode on the first of May. From that date all houses and stores were rented for one year; and the hurry, bustle, turmoil, and confusion into which that day threw the whole population of New- York, from the highest to the lowest, cannot be conceived ; it could be compared with nothing but itself. A town besieged, or a general conflagration, would fail to convey an idea ofthe ridiculous effect of an immense mass of men, women, and children, loaded with articles of household utility or orna ment, taking shelter, with much seeming anx iety, in some abode, from which another party, loaded in the same manner, were making their escape. The streets crowded with carts, wag ons, and carriages of every denomination — en gaged, perhaps, three months before — teeming over with chairs and tables, in the hurry, appa rently, packed on purpose to tumble off, to the great delight of the cabinet-makers and others, who took no interest in the matter beyond the mischief. No better proof of the national for bearance, and government of temper natural to the Americans, than such a trial of patience as this could possibly be invented; and yet even the demolition of a favourite basket of china, or a dray carrying a load of furniture nobody could find out where ; or the porter's placing a ponder ous piece of furniture in the fourth story of Nc. 80, when it was expected in the front parlour ol No. 1, were causes for merriment, especially to those who had the right to be annoyed ; and, with the exception of some disputed points of etiquette among the Irish carmen, the whole day's " toi and trouble" — for " My business in this state Made me a looker-on here in Vienna" — appeared to. be considered an excellent frolic. Simpson I found to be a blunt, plain man, who welcomed me without either warmth or ceremony ; he hadn't a morning-gmm, but the most amiable expression of countenance I thihk I eyer beheld. For the convenience ofthe the atre, I was to appear in L'Clair, in the " Found ling of the Forest ;" and Crack, in the " Turn pike Gate," was suggested, or, rather, insisted upon by Price as the farce; for, having formed a " Gil Bias" opinion of my talent, he was de- PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. tenmned to be satisfied at once if I was equal to what my friends in London had represented. Barnes was a great favourite in that character, and him, I found, I was expressly engaged to ¦supplant in the favour ofthe audience 1 was merely underlined "from Drury Lane," BiT-i • f aPPeal?nce in America," on one of J-hUUpss orl-nights, and, in consequence, the iouse was very little better than it probably would have been without my playing at all. My reception was kind in the extreme ; and at the ¦end ofthe first piece, Price came round and paid me some very high compliments. Simpson said some civil things ; but I could plainly see peep ing through them that he thought me " very dear for the money." I was then only twenty-nine jears of age, and the contrast between the young soldier and Crack was very great; and my ap pearance, when disguised for the latter part, I suppose, gave hope to the junior partner, from his altered manner, that I might be worth my salary. Old Kent and Simpson had been to gether in the Dublin theatre. I had never seen Kent play, but I found great expectations were formed of his making a hit. He had selected Sir Anthony Absolute and Looney M'Twolter, " to astonish the natives in," and, without any consultation of my taste on the subject, I, of course, was cast Acres and Caleb Gluotem. His next night was to be the " Road to Ruin," for the sake of his Old Dornton— I to play Goldfinch— and to show his versatility, he was to sing Bel- ville, in " Rosina," and I to play the pretty part of William. To all this I had no right or cause to make the least objection; but the first act ofthe " Turnpike Gate" changed the state of affairs. Captain Marshall, whenever it didn't blow, would blow the flute, exclusively to please him self— "" How sour sweet music is when time is broke and no pro portion kept !" and two tunes, which I couldn't discover to be at all like any air I had ever heard before, I found were great favourites with my friend, and these, I was informed, were " Yankee Doodle" and " Hail Columbia ;" and unexpectedly intro ducing these then unhackneyed tunes in a song 1 manufactured for the occasion, produced a great effect, and my success altogether was im mense. "Simp-son," said Price, hobbling down the same steps 1 had tumbled, "look here; as to playing the ' Review' on Thursday night is all d — nonsense ; the farce will be this Crack-thing. Cowell," giving me a hearty shake of the hand, ¦"you've made the greatest hit, sir, that ever was made in Ameri-ca. Look here, Neddy, what's the play o' Thursday ?" " The ' Rivals,' " said Simpson. " Well, here, Cowell," said Price, " if you don't like that part of Acres, say so, and you can play whatever you choose." " I have already said so to Mr. Cowell," said Simpson; "but he assures me 'tis a favourite character." And so he had, and, like a sensible man, he paid me all the attention the good opinion I had earned deserved. I became at once a decided favourite with the audience; and that enviable position, I am proud to say, I have maintained, in all the principal cities ofthe Union, up to the present hour. At the termination of the per formance I was introduced to some half dozen critics and admirers of the drama, among them 59 M. M. Noah, then the high-sheriff, who has ever since, when in his power, shown me great kind ness and attention. That night I felt a triumph ant, self-satisfied sensation, I never experienced be fore nor since. Simpson had only been married a short time, and, like myself and others, was waiting till the first of May to go into housekeeping; but he gave a very handsome dinner, on Sunday, at his boarding-house, kept by the widow of George Frederic Cooke, where I met Price's two broth ers, William and Edward, Noah, Jarvis, the cel ebrated painter, and most eccentric character, and a large party of gentlemen. Simpson, true to Price's description, was the most industrious man I ever knew ; he generally played in every piece that there was any necessity for his appear ing in, whether in his line or not, greatly to his own disadvantage, for in a certain range of characters he was excellent. For six days in the week he was scarcely out ofthe theatre; but on Sunday, it must be a very urgent point of business that would induce him even to write a letter. He seldom visited, but generally gave a dinner to a choice circle of friends; and it was some engagement, more for policy than taste, which prevented my being his guest on those occasions while I remained in New- York. At the end of some twelve nights 1 had a benefit, the profits arising from which I had sold to Price for our passages, which it considerably exceed ed, and he generously offered me the overplus ; but I, like John Astley, stuck to my bargain, whether good or bad. I was now strongly urged by Simpson and Price to go to Boston for two weeks, and receive half the proceeds of an engagement there ; but to this no persuasion could induce me to con sent. My argument was, that as I had never achieved the position of a " star" in my own country, I would not subject myself to ridicule in attempting to shine out of my sphere in this. My foolish modesty on this point, if it might so be called, has been amply compensated for by the host of impostors who have yearly scoured the country since, till they have drained it dry as hay; with nothing under heaven to recom mend them but an announcement from one of the London theatres, and T. R. C. G. or T. R. D. L., in gilt or conspicuous letters, on every book or manuscript they have an opportunity to place upon a prompt-table. The managers, secure in a profit, aid the imposition ; they de mand their charges, and, should the he or she humbug prove too gross, even for the indulgence of the most indulgent audience in the world, no blame can attach to them for introducing novel ty so highly self-recommended. The theatres being numerous and "far between," if some well-paid-for puffs succeed in exciting curiosity for a night or two, they travel round the Conti nent, and escape to Europe before they are fair ly found out ; often with a well-lined purse, as proof of the easy gullibility of the hospitable Americans, and send " his fellow of the self same flight the self-same way." Some years since, in travelling down the Mis sissippi, a Swiss or German steerage-passenger made himself conspicuous by singing all man ner of outlandish songs an octave above com mon sense — a squeaking falsetto, resembling The excruciating appeals to humanity a pig makes while having his nose bored, or under going other necessary or ornamental surgical operations — and collecting, by this unnatural 60 THIRTY YEARS exertion of the lungs, divers bits and picayunes from the deck-hands and other admirers of " mu sic out of tune, and harsh ;" and, a few days af ter my arrival at New-Orleans, Caldwell under lined " Signor Carl Maria Von Bliss, from the Royal Academy of Music at Vienna!" or some where ; and, to my astonishment, it proved to be this yelling German, who had put my ear out of joint, and helped to wood the boat on the pas sage down. Of course, this was too much of a joke; but the warm-hearted Southerners, find ing the fellow -was in poverty, made him an ex cellent benefit, though they couldn't endure his music. Cooper succeeded Phillips, then the theatrical god of America; and he behaved like a most disagreeable one to all the mortals beneath him. He was to open in Macbeth ; the rehearsal was called at ten o'clock; Mrs. Wheatley, Barnes, and myself were the Witches ; we went through our first scene, and so far in the second as Mac- beth's entrance ; he had been on the stage an in stant before he was wanted, but then he was missing. "Call Mr. Cooper!" says Simpson. " He's gone in the front!" says the boy* "Go for him, sir!" said Simpson. Mrs. Wheatley, Old Jack, and myself told, or listened in turn, to two or three excellent jokes before Cooper arrived. Then he gave long and particular directions to Anderson, the prompter, as to the exact time of the commencing of the march, and the exact time of its leaving off, and had just got as far in the dialogue as to inquire, " What ar-re these," when the thought occurred that we should look better, or he could act better, if he had a witch at each entrance. He appealed to Simpson, who grumbled out something, and the Fuselli groupe was desired to take open order, and Mrs. Wheat- ley went half up the stage. This wouldn't do, unless the meeting was supposed to be with three old women, in lifferent streets ; and tbe word was given, " As you were !" and 'twas finally agreed that Barnes and I should stand at the first entrance, and Mrs. Wheatley close to the wing at the second. The manner of direct ing these alterations and improvements, and the time occupied in making them, put my patience to a severe test; and at this critical juncture a boy entered, and delivered him a note, and he coolly sat down to the table to answer it. This was the climax; and, leading Mrs. Wheatley off the stage, I said, with much temper, " Mr. Simpson, I can put up with this rude ness no longer; I'm going home!" Simpson, whose endurance was the wonder of everybody, followed me off the stage: "Oh! nonsense, Joe! nonsense! come back! it's only his way." " D — his way !" said I ; and home I went. At night Barnes explained to me the altera tions which had been made in the usual busi ness, but I had made up my mind to play the part exactly as I had done it with Kean, at Dru ry Lane, with Munden and Knight as my allies, right or wrong; and when Barnes and Mrs. Wheatley were stirring the boiling gruel at the back of the stage, I was very coolly standing in the corner. I couldn't but admire the man's splendid talent ; and he had administered to my vanity by waiting every night to see my farce, and making it part of his bargain, as he receiv ed a per centage, that I should appear on his nights ; but I looked upon him as a brute, not withstanding; and he never spoke to me, nor I to him. One night, while he was performing Virginius, I was seated on a sofa, placed under a large glass, in the green-room, when he came in to adjust his toga. I moved my head out of his way, and not my person ; he came close up to the glass, and then stooped his head within six inches of mine, and stared me straight in the face, and I said, " Booh !" He looked perfectly- astonished, and walked out amid a hearty laugh from the ladies, for I was an excellent clown in their estimation. A day or two after he address ed me behind the scenes with, " Mr. Cowell, no one has been civil enough to introduce me to you, therefore I'm compelled to do it myself!" and, after paying me some very handsome compliments, ended with invi ting me to dine with him; and we have been very intimate ever since ; nor do I know, in my large list of acquaintances, a more agreeable companion than Thomas Cooper. During my residence in the Northern States, I was a fre quent guest, for a day or two at a time, at his delightful cottage, at Bristol, Pennsylvania ; where the luxuries attendant Upon affluence were so regulated by good taste, that Cooper never appeared to such advantage as when at home. His family was numerous, and very in teresting. He used to boast of never allowing his children to cry. " Sir, when my children were young, and be gan to cry, I always dashed a glass of water in their face, and that so astonished them that they would leave off; and if they began again, I'd dash another, and keep on increasing the dose till they were entirely cured." His second daughter, Priscilla, who is marri ed to the son of John Tyler, the present Presi dent of the United States, is perhaps indebted! to some of her father's lessons for that affable, yet dignified deportment which commands the admiration of all parties. The Park company was not extensive, but very useful, consisting of Messrs. Simpson, Barnes, Pritchard, Ritch- ings, Phillips, Nixon Anderson, Reed, Banker,. Maywood, and myself. Mesdames Wheatley,. Barnes, Holman, Barrett ; Miss Johnson, Jones, Brundage, and Bland. If there were more, I have forgotten them. Of course, we all had to play nearly every night, and I never escaped. Gillingham was the leader; a good-tempered, eccentric fellow, with an odd kind of nervous affection, which made him appear as if he was continually endeavour ing to bite his own ear; this singularity was most conspicuous when he was under the influ ence of liquor, which was very frequently the case ; and one night, while accompanying one of my songs, he made a more than usual ener getic snap over his shoulder, lost his balance, and fell into the orchestra, carrying with him the second violin, his own stool, and a music- stand, to the great amusement of the audience. He was, strange to say, as fond of eating as he was of drinking, and, when searching for a lodg ing, his first inquiry would be, " Madam, have you a gridiron ?" and if the answer was " Yes," the kind of rooms, or the price of them, was a secondary consideration ; but if " No," he turn ed on his heel and vanished without another word. This efficient conductor, with six or eight other professors, formed a very wretched or chestra, but then even so many, and of such a PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 61 quality, could only be obtained at a very high price ; they never came to rehearsal but on very particular occasions, and even then they were paid extra, and all the music in the performance was gone through, one piece after another, and an hour selected the least likely to interfere with their teaching, or other out -door avocations. Times are sadly changed. I wonder how many good musicians there are at this day out of em ployment ? I know fifty at least. Robbins was the principal artist, and also played the double bass ; he always came to rehearsal, for he'd do anything rather than paint. H. Reinagle, Ev- ers, and H. Isherwood, an apprentice to Robbins, completed this department, and among them they would perpetrate two scenes in a month. By a law, of their own making, I suppose, they only made believe to work from ten o'clock in the morning till four in the afternoon. In short, at the period I speak of, performers, and others employed in a theatre, couldn't be obtained; nor were there a sufficient number of American actors on the whole continent to form a company : for tunately for the young population of that day, they had something better to do. Out of the members I have named at the Park, all were English with the exception of Reed, Woodhull, Phillips, Banker, and Nixon. Woodhull had ¦considerable talent, though he contented himself with being an imitator of Pritchard, and natu rally so like him that a stranger could scarcely tell the difference. He died soon after he had formed a style of his own and began to be es teemed a good actor. Phillips was an uncle to Noah — I don't mean " the ancient mariner," but ¦the editor — and through his influence, perhaps to aid his own talent, he was engaged to play walking gentlemen, but was anything but inter esting in his appearance ; if a profile of his per son had been taken in black, you couldn't have told the difference between it and the shadow of a boy's top with two pegs. He very prudently took to playing old men, and, in a secondary line, became very respectable. Poor Banker didn't live long enough to " come to judgment;" and Nixon delivered messages then, and was still explaining that '< the carriage waits" when I last saw him. All the females worth speaking of were English, with the exception of Mrs. Wheatley, and she, I believe, is a native of New-York, and a much better actress, in my opinion, than all of them put together, without in the least degree intending to speak slightingly of the acknowledged talent of the other ladies. When I joined the company, Mrs. Barrett, the mother of George, played the old women. She was a very ladylike creature, excessively tall, and in her day, no doubt, had been very good- looking, and greatly esteemed in the higher walks ofthe drama, but brought with her for the task she then undertook nothing but her appro priate age and knowledge of the profession. Light comedy men and interesting ladies, when they get into years, as a- last resource un dertake to play old men and women : this is a great affliction to the audience, and to those who have to perform with them; memory, hearing, and seeing, all impaired ; the recollection of what they have been distressing themselves, and what they are everybody else, Acting is — acting; and a young woman of eighteen or twenty is just as capable, or more so, of playing Mrs. Mala- prop, or the Duenna, than an old lady of forty-five is to play Juliet, or Sophia in the Road to Ruin ; iand yet those latter characters are often so rep resented. Few pretty women will sacrifice their love of admiration, and consent to be " An angel of Ioto in the morning, And then an old woman at night." But Mrs. Wheatley was an exception to the gen eral prejudice, and whenever there was an ap propriate part in a new piece in which I was in terested that Mrs. Wheatley could with propri ety be cast, I used to urge all my power with Mr. Simpson to have her in the character ; and I boldly assert, that had she had the good luck to have commenced her career in London at that same period, she would have established a distinct path in the intricate maze of the drama, where alone nature, leading truth, and exquisite humour would have ever dared to follow. The season terminated on the fourth of July, to commence again on the first of September. Rather as an acknowledgment than a return for the »any acts of kindness I had received from both Price and Simpson, I undertook to decorate the theatre gratuitously. Henry Isher wood I selected for my assistant, a lad of great promise as an artist; but the little that Robbins was able to teach him he had neglected to impart, and his after success in his profession I have been much flattered by his attributing to my en couragement and instruction. Glass chande liers were purchased to supply the place of the iron hoops ; the procenium was arched and rais ed ; no expense was spared for material ; and, dressed in gray and gold, the next season the " Park" assumed the responsible appearance it has maintained ever since. Price went to Eng land for recruits, and Simpson and the larger portion of the company into the country, " To keep the flame from wasting by repose." The season was unusually warm, and about the middle of August great alarm was created by some cases of yellow fever occurring in the northern part of the city. In a day or two the contagion crossed Broadway, and a death be ing reported at the Custom-House, in Wall- street, the panic became universal and frightful ly ridiculous. The whole population in that section of the city who were well or able, beat a retreat with bag and baggage — the sick and poor at the expense of the authorities — the move ment on the first of May would bear no compar ison. Well-dressed women with " a blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up," were seen drag ging along a squalling child, without a hat, through the blazing sun, and the fond father fol lowing with a bed on his head, and perhaps a gridiron or a pair of tongs in his hand. All the ferry-boats to Hoboken, Powles Hook, Staten Island, and Brooklyn were constantly plying, loaded down with passengers, who seemed to think drowning a secondary consideration ; and in one hour the thickly-inhabited and largest por tion of New- York was deserted by every human being. The district supposed to be infected was boarded up, the streets covered ankle deep with lime, and all intercourse prohibited. My family were fortunately in New- Jersey, and my house, though far enough from the point of danger to ensure my own safety, was still too near, ih the estimation of my friends, for them to make it a sanctuary, so John Kent and I kept bachelor's hall, for not a soul would venture to pay us a visit. He was a faithful old negro, who for years had been employed in the theatre as a sort of deputy property-maker ; he professed a great regard for me in consequence of my being 62 THIRTY YEARS "a countryman !" for, happening tc be born on the Island of Jamaica, he prided himself upon being "English." Twice a week we made it a rule late at night to trespass on the uninhabited re gion, John loaded with a huge basket of coarse provisions for the starving cats, who instinctive ly believe " there is no place like home," and, after a donation or two of the sort, the numbers that would surround us, the moment they heard us approach, would be past belief: I found it a most whimsical mode of cheating a long, dull night of part of its death-like solitude ; not an other thing that breathes and stirs would we meet in our walk, excepting a single horse, per haps, trotting along with an unattended hearse, and the driver smoking a cigar or whistling " Yankee Doodle." I had once witnessed the full horrors of this scourge to mankind in the West Indies, and though a great number fell victims in New- York, yet, by comparison with what I had seen, to my mind it was disarmed of its terrors ; but not so with the generality of the inhabitants, and I firm ly believe half the deaths were caused by fright alone. A fine, jovial fellow, a jeweller, by the name of Irish, had "a dog he loved," who a day or two after his master's flight, it was supposed, had strayed back to the old dwelling, in the very heart of the infected district; and though he valued the animal as dearly as he could a child, and danger in " any shape but that" he would have despised, yet, though suffering actual ago ny at the thought of the poor little wretch being starved to death, he could not summon strength of mind enough to go in search of him, nor hire any one who would. Though " to do good is sometimes dangerous folly," I undertook the task, and after a fight on the steps with the half-fam ished wasp, I succeeded in tying him up in my handkerchief, and bundled him back to his master. Many of the retail dealers from Broadway and Pearl-street, after the first alarm had subsi ded, had erected temporary sheds for the sale of their various merchandise at Greenwich Village, which could then only boast of a state-prison and some dozen scattered houses, and, in conse quence, the place suddenly assumed the appear ance of a fair. The young clerks and appren tices, having little else to do, had displayed their wit in various jokes in rhyme on their make shift signs ; Irish applied to me for one " accord ing to the fashion of the lime," and I perpetra ted the following : Charles Irish, that brave-looking fellow, Watchmaker, late of Wall-street, Took fright at the fever called yellow, And to this place has made his retreat ; ^ Now in this don't you think he was right ? For had he stayed there and got sick, He'd no more wind his clock up at night, Or sell you a,?B?atch upon tick. # CHAPTER III. " E'en ere an artful spider spins a line Of metaphysic'texture, man's thin thread Of life is broken : how analogous Their parallel of lines f"slight, subtle, vain." Sickness, a Poem, by William Thompson. S^ The first of September came, the then regular period of commencing the season at the Park, and no abatement of the epidemic. But the panic which this unexpected visitation had cre ated having in part subsided, a number of the inhabitants had returned to the city, though but few to their houses; and, in consequence, the- town and village were crowded with idlers, in- eluding the actors, with long faces and empty pockets. As a resource, it was proposed to fit up the Circus in Broadway, belonging to West, as a temporary theatre; the same building that is now called Tattersal's, and then literally out of town. My friend, Sam Dunn, the long Yan kee carpenter, who picked me up and trundled me out the first day I tumbled on an American stage, had all prepared in a few days, and we went into successful operation; playing to busi ness which enabled us to pay all the expendi ture, and two thirds salary the first three weeks,, and then the whole amount, till the Park open ed. When the affair was past a doubt, Simpson. packed up his fishing-tackle and took the reins of government. Like most large cities, places- of public amusement in New- York depend for their chief support on strangers and visiters;: but the inhabitants then attended the theatre from the fact of there being nowhere else to go ; even* most of the churches were shut up — I have fre quently found the parsons, whether at sea or on. land, the very first to run from danger — and the- houses were well filled nightly. I took one of my benefits there, and had upward of eight hun dred dollars at circus prices. That excellent actor, John Clark, whom Price- engaged upon my recommendation, and Watkin- son, to play the old men in the place of Barnes,. who had left for England at the end of the season, arrived at the very height ofthe sickness ^ and poor Charles Matthews and Price popped in in the thick of it, but, fortunately, none of them suffered from anything but fright. Matthews made his appearance in Goldfinch,, and was very coldly received ; he introduced his two excellent songs, " The picture of a play house.'' and "A description of a ring-fight;" nei ther being then understood, they were not en cored, and the whole performance might be con sidered a failure ; but, fortunately for him and-- the management, he had studied on the passage- M. Morbleau, and Price, who was a great di plomatist in theatrical politics, knowing the ad vantage of an original part, urged him to play that character in the farce, and in that he made ¦ a tremendous hit. Little dependance was placed on his entertain- - ments; but, contrary to all expectation, his main- success was hinged upon them. He was more- highly relished at Philadelphia and Boston than at New- York, though he drew crowded houses- everywhere he went. Price followed him like: a shadow, and nursed him like a child. He was; really an amiable, good-hearted man; but his nervous irritability — commenced, no doubt, in affectation, and terminated in disease — rendered him extremely objectionable to those who were not inclined either to submit to, or laugh at his prejudices ; and his uncontrolled expressions of disgust at everything American would have- speedily ended his career, but that Price man aged to have him continually surrounded bya certain set, who had good sense enough to ad mit his talent as ample amends for his rudeness. He actually came to rehearsal with his nose stopped with cotton, to prevent his smelling " the d — American mutton chops !" who could even laugh at such folly ? It was positively neces sary to his health and happiness to have some fresh annoyance every day. He hadn't been in. PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 63 New- York a week, when he got a letter from some poor woman, who craved his assistance, on the score of having known him before at Old York : this was most deliciously disagreeable ; he showed the letter to everybody— explained the persecutions he had experienced in the same way in England : " And now," said he, "dam'me, they are full cry after me in America !" Upon this hint, Price and myself, in disguised hands, sent him two or three epistles every morning, dated from the Five Points, or Chapetstreel, from some "disconsolate English widow" or "a poor forsaken young woman." And by introducing the names of persons he might happen to men tion in his convivial anecdotes, or those whom I had heard speak of him while at York and other places, he had no doubt of their authenti city, and one purporting to be from Johnny Winter's niece, stating that " she remembered his playing Lingo when she was a child, was now in great distress, and for tlie love he bore her uncle, claimed his aid," kept him fully employed in ima ginary misery for a week. At his last engagement that season, his attrac tion decreasing, Price cajoled him into playing Othello, which drew a full house ; and he was actually childish enough to believe he could play it — not in imitation, but in the manner of John Kemble! But no matter whose manner it was intended to convey, he made the Moor the most melancholy, limping negro I ever beheld. The audience were exactly of my way of think ing; and but for the high favour he had gained, they would have smothered him, long before he smothered Desdemona. Before I left England Tom and Jerry was in preparation for the Adelphi. Burroughs, alias Watkins, was to be the Corinthian ; Wilkinson, Logic; and Jerry, Moncrief had written for me, but when I came to America, by omitting the songs and otherwise altering the character, from what was exclusively meant to suit my style, Burroughs played the part, and Wrench was en gaged for Tom. Simpson had had the manu script for some time, but was under the appre hension that an American audience would never tolerate the vulgar slang nonsense. At my ear nest solicitation, at length the experiment was made, but so positive was he that the piece could not succeed, that little or nothing was done to assist it ; it was even carelessly rehearsed at the back of the stage while business of more sup posed importance occupied the front ; but, not withstanding, Tom and Jerry, in its day, drew more money than any other piece ever played in the United States ! M. M. Noah, who had already produced sev eral dramatic pieces with success, manufac tured a play called The Grecian Captive, which was performed for his uncle's benefit, A. Phil lips. I was cast for what was said to be the best part in the piece ; at all events, it was the longest; all I ever did know about it was the name, and that was Goodman. The drama was supposed to be written in blank verse, that is, good, wholesome, commonplace language, the wrong end foremost, after the manner of Sheri dan Knowles ; u And to cram these words into mine ears Against the stomach of my sense," for one night only, was out of the question, and 1 made up my mind to speak the meaning of the part after what flourish my nature prompted, and so, indeed, I believe, had all the performers. Simpson and some other captives were discov ered, in the first scene, digging away in a Turk- ish garden ; I was a sort of overseer, and enter ed to them, after the manner of Sadi, in the Mountaineers, and recognised, somehow or an other, in the captive I was chiding for idleness,. " a beloved master," and Simpson and I were proceeding with an interesting dialogue after this fashion : " Captive. My faithful Goodman, do I behold once mora That honest form 1 " Goodman. Master, most dearly loved, Let an embrace assure me that I do not dreanL" And as we were suiting the action to the word, he whispered in my ear, " Dam'me, Joe, look at the books." And, upon turning to the audience, every one in the front had a copy in his hand. To in crease the attraction, the play had been publish ed, and every purchaser of a box-ticket had been presented with a book, which arrangement I had never heard of till then. I am not easily embar rassed, but this annoyed me exceedingly. If I had not been the principal victim in the business — for I was on the stage nearly the whole of the piece — I could have enjoyed the anxiety of the audience endeavouring to find out where we were. You might see one thumbing over the leaves one after another, then turn them all back, . listen an instant, and then begin again. An other appeal to his neighbour, and he shake his head in despair. I was assured very seriously by a young critic, the next day, that I had actu ally sometimes cut out a whole page at a time. But I could not laugh at it ; I was angry, and con sidered the arrangement a rudeness on the part of Mr. Phillips. At nearly the close of a long and laborious season, a whole company had cheer fully, for the sake of serving him, undertaken to get through with a composition that the author himself could never wish should see daylight ; and though Phillips knew that not a soul could learn more than the action, he, for the sake of a few dollars, lets an audience into a secret which, for their own sake as well as ours, they had better not have known. Towards the end of the first act I had to be seized and taken off to prison. Supernumeraries were not easily obtained in those days ; gener ally they consisted of young men with souls above buttons; Booths and Forrests in the shell, full of starts and attitudes, and terribly in earnest in all they had to do. If they had to seize you, they really seized you, and left the print of their fin gers on either arm for a week ; and if they had to knock you down, the odds were large against your ever coming to time. I was well aware of their reality propensities, and had particularly requested them in the morning to " use all gently." But Woodhull — " a pestilence on hi m for a mad wag," he's in his grave long ago — delighted at my an noyance, and determining, if possible, to increase it — having taken a leaf out of my own book — told these gentlemen, who were engaged to do as they were bid by everybody, that I had chan ged my mind, and that at the word they were to rush upon me with all their force and trip me behind, which, I being off my guard, they did most effectively. When I could scramble on my feet again, with all my might I floored the first man I met with, and then rushed off the- stage. Poor Nixen was my victim, and he " only gave the order," was not to blame, and therefore promised to thrash me after the play? but as I had bunged his eye up by mistake, he looked over the matter with the other. I was «4 THIRTY YEARS most ridiculously angry, and vowed I would not go on the stage again. But Simpson smoothed me down, and my friend Noah acknowledged the bad taste of the books being distributed, and -confessed the language " was very hard to learn." "And so is Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled pepper," I stuttered out ; " but it's hor rid trash for all that." In the last scene, Phillips, half frightened •'to death, came on wriggling, on the back of a real elephant ; and an unexpected hydraulic ex- perimenfhe introduced — I mean the elephant — to the great astonishment and discomfiture of the musicians, closed the performance amid the shouts of the audience. Now, though I and my numerous assistants Jiad effectually damned the piece, the kind-heart- ¦ed Noahj the next day, in his own paper, wrote an excuse for the performers, and placed the whole blame to his imprudence in permitting •the books to be given away. West, with a fine company of performers, and -a magnificent stud of horses, paid a yearly visit 4o New- York, to the serious injury of the thea tre ; and, in self-defence, Price and' Simpson -were desirous to buy him out. To effect this, resort was had to stratagem, in which I played ¦a very useful part. My particular intimacy with the management being notorious, with •binding oaths of secrecy, I named to those well .fitted to instantly convey the news to West, that the Park proprietors intended erecting a most splendid amphitheatre in Broadway, on the va- •cant lot where the Masonic Hall now stands ; a model, somewhat after the plan of Astley's, was placed in the green-room, and imagination, aided by the whisper abroad, soon gave it a lo- ¦ cal habitation and a name. A delinquent from ¦the circus (Tatnal) was engaged, and employed to break two horses in a temporary ring, boarded round, in a lot on the allfey at the back of the theatre. These broad hints at opposition soon brought matters to an issue; and at a fair price, and easy mode of payment — for a large portion of the amount was raised by the re ceipts after they were in possession — Simpson and Price, and some others, who then objected to be known to be interested, and, through my means, shall not now, purchased the build ings, lease, engagements, horses, wardrobe, scenery, and a prohibition against West again •establishing a circus in the United States. And, well pleased with such a winding-up to -his experiment, West, with a handsome fortune, went to England ; for, when he arrived in Amer ica, he had not the means to pay for the passa ges of his company until Price and Simpson ad vanced the money, and engaged the horse and foot to "Timour the Tartar" and "Siege of Belgrade" for the Park Theatre. A Frenchman, by the name of Barriere, had iitted up a small garden at the back of a confec tioner's shop in Chatham-street, with two or three dozen transparent lamps, and " Seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whispering lovers made ," and, by selling " sweets to the sweet" at a shil ling a head, had made a great deal of money; ¦which, to rapidly increase, he raised a plat form, called it an orchestra, covered it with can vass, engaged a French horn, clarionet, fiddle, -and a chorus-singer from the Park, with the ;gentle name of Lamb, who bleated a song or two, and with this combination of talent attract ed crowds every night, to the great injury, "in the springtime of year," of the theatre. Price put in force some fire-proof law, prohibiting all canvass or skin-deep establishments within a certain limit, and the old Frenchman was obli ged to strike his tent; but, with the ice-cream profits, he purchased bricks and mortar, and built the Chatham Theatre. While this was in embryo, Mrs. Baldwin, a sister to Mrs. Barnes, turned the brains of some half dozen would-be-acting young men and wom en, and a private house in Warren-street into a theatre, and opened a show there. Tom Hilson had been seduced away from the Park, where he had been a great favourite in my line of busi ness, by Charles Gilfert, a German musician, who had married Miss Holman, and was, in consequence, manager ofthe Charleston, South Carolina, Theatre. On Hilson's necessary re turn to the North in the summer, being shut out by me from the Park, he accepted a star engage ment at this old lady's concern, and drew crowd ed "houses. Gilfert, who was a very enterpri sing, talented man, with some powerful friends, already began to talk of a theatre in the Bowery ; and Hilson, in such an event, being a dangerous ally, I sacrificed my taste to aid my friends, and on the fourth of July, 1823^ took the control of the circus, vacating my position at the theatre, to be filled by Hilson, and Harry Placide as his assistant, in my very extensive round of charac ters. Hilson was the son of a picture-dealer by the name of Hill, a man of some wealth; for in that day, copying and repairing pictures, and giving them an ancient name and appearance, was as profitable as passing counterfeit money, and relieved of the disgrace and danger; and, indeed, I have seen copies of pictures so excel lent, that they were cheap at the price the origi nals could command. Who ever grumbled at paying a dollar to see Booth play Richard the Third, provided they had never beheld Kean in the same character? His family being averse to his imitating Na ture instead of art, Tom bade adieu to his coun try, denied his father by putting the son to his name, and came to America, where he might freely indulge his predilection for the drama. But, having entered the profession more after the manner of an amateur, than an actor who had regularly and patiently climbed the rounds of the Thespian ladder, the drudgery of the trade he never could surmount. He required time for study, and a choice of characters, in which for years he was indulged; while Harry Placide quietly filled up the interstices with such care and skill, that ultimately the trifling space Hil son occupied was not worth paying largely for by the management, nor the vacancy likely to be noticed by the audience. Poor Hilson took ref uge in the West, and left Placide the undisputed master of the field. He died suddenly, about two years afterward, at Louisville, Kentucky. In characters requi ring homely pathos, if they can be so described, such as the old father in "Clari," he could not be equalled ; in humorous parts, in endeavour ing to be broad, he was coarse. As a man he was most estimable. He married Miss Johnson, one of the very few who make you feel truly proud that you belong to the same profession. They lived but for each other ; and when he died, a beautiful little girl was all that tied her to the earth, who, shortly after, being seized with a ma- PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 65 lignaht fever, the widowed parent vowed one grave should hold them, and wildly inhaled her infant's poisoned breath till saturated with dis ease. But God spared the child, and the poor mother perished. I loved them both as I would a brother and a sister, which is much to say " in this all-hating world." CHAPTER IV. " Have they not sword-players, and every sort Of gymnic artists, wrestlers, riders, runners, Jugglers and dancers, antics, mummers, mimics, To make them sport V — Sampson Agonistes. -I now look back and laugh at the contradict ory feelings I experienced the first day I walked through the aisle-like stable, to be introduced to the members of the circus as their future man ager ; each stall occupied by a magnificent ani mal, knee-deep in unsoiled straw, platted into a kind of door-mat fringe on its outer edge, to se cure the particles from littering the snow-white pavement. The childish pride I felt as "to my self I said," " I'm monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute," was checked by the recollection of the sacrifice I was about to make of my profession; and for the life of me I could not suppress the thought that there might be some of my legitimate asso ciates who, in speaking of my appointment, would apply to me that coarse but common com bination of words and wit, " horse — and saw dust" manager; which, though, in point of fact, it amounts to the same thing as "sole director of the celebrated equestrian company," yet, by taking away the dignified name ofthe office, all that remained was mental slavery of the worst kind, because totally at variance with my taste or former pursuits. But Tom Ash, the chair- maker and celebrated financier, said I should make a fortune "by the operation," and, with this imaginary gilding, I swallowed the pill. My few weeks' experience at Astley's I found of infinite service in my new undertaking; at all events, it gave me the power of backing my di rections with "that's the way we always did it at Astley's" and such authority was indisputable. To successfully command an army, a banditti, or a circus, it is all-important that the corps should have implicit confidence in the capability of their leader; and who could doubt mine, when / had graduated at Astley's ? Large additions to horse and foot had been made, and the company was both extensive and excellent : a stud of thirty-three horses, four ponies, and a jackass, all so admirably selected and educated, that for beauty and utility they could not be equalled anywhere. The concern was already popular, and the powerful influence ofthe proprietors in cog, made it (oh, enviable democratic distinction !) a very fashionable resort, and our success was enormous. Of course, like others when first placed in power, I made a total change in my cabinet. John Blake I appointed secretary of the treasury and principal ticket-seller ; and to prove how excellent a judge I was of integrity and capacity, he was engaged at the Park at the end of the season, and has held that important situation there ever since. A delicious speci men of the Emerald Isle, with the appropriate equestrian appellation of Billy Rider, received an office of nearly equal trust, though smaller F chance of perquisites — stage and stable door keeper at night, and through the day a variety of duties, to designate half of which would oc cupy a chapter. He was strict to a fault in the discharge of his duty, as every urchin of that day who attempted to sneak into the Circus can testify. Conway the tragedian called to see me one evening, and in attempting to pass was stop ped by Billy, armed, as usual, with a pitchfork. "What's this you want? Who are ye? and where are you going?" says Billy. " 1 wish to see Mr. Cowell," says Conway. " Oh, then, it's till to-morrow at' 10 o'clock, in his office, that you'll have to wait to perforin that operation." " But, my dear fellcw, my name is Conway, of the theatre; Mr. Cowell is my particular friend, and I have his permission to enter." " By my word, sir, I thank ye kindly for the explination — and it's a mighty tall, good-looking gentleman you are too," says Billy, presenting his pitchfork ; " but if ye were the blessed Re deemer, with the cross under your arm, you couldn't pass me without an orther from Mr. Cowell." Bob Maywood, on his benefit night, during my first season at the Park, mistaking the noise made by the call-boy and some of his playmates frolicking behind the scenes, before the curtain was up, for the commencement of the perform ance, poked his nose through the door in the flat to take a peep at the house before he went on, when one of the lads, supposing Bob's nose was that of his comrade, sneaked softly by the side of the scene and tweaked it most abomina bly; discovering his mistake, the boy was off and under the stage before Maywood could get to the front. I was greatly amused at poor Bob's astonishment and anger at this mysterious insult. A reward was offered for the discovery of the offender, but as I alone was witness to the deed, he wasn't likely to be found out. In the course of the evening a fine-countenanced, bold-looking, red-headed rascal, with an extra ordinary large mole on his chin, exhibiting half a dozen hairs of the same complexion, came sidling up to me, and, with a roguish smile, said, " Don't you go to tell on me, sir." "Oh, oh," said I, "then you are the villain who pulled Bob May wood's nose, are you ?" " Yes, sir," said the boy ; " but indeed I thought it was George Went's." This was my first acquaintance with Tom Blakeley. I faithfully kept his secret; and he, in gratitude, was always on the alert to run of an errand, or do any little job I required; but if he should see me and Maywood in conversa tion, he'd come up, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and say, "Will you have a stick of candy, sir?" or " an apple," and give me an imploring don't-tell look. I liked the young rogue, but the run of the piece in which boys were required being over, I lost sight of him ; but a few days after my ta king the circus, a well-grown lad presented him self as an applicant for a situation, and by the extraordinary mole on the chin I instantly rec ognised my young friend of nose-pulling celeb rity. For old acquaintance' sake I gave him a small salary to do " anything," but his great in dustry and propriety of conduct soon made him a most valuable member of the company. He afterward became an excellent actor, and for some years was a great favourite at the Park 66 THIRTY YEARS and Bowery. He was the first to introduce ne gro singing on the American stage, and his " Coal Black Rose" set the fashion for African melodies which Rice for years has so success fully followed. While at Philadelphia, Tom was called upon by the city authorities to give security for the maintenance of a " little respon sibility';" this he appeared to consider a most vile plot against his moral character, and, indig nantly declining any parental honour of the sort, retained Colonel James Page as his counsel, and the cause went to trial. An alibi — that most im portant point in any case, but particularly so in one of this kind — was, with much plausibility, very nearly established, when the prosecuting attorney begged permission to introduce what he called a very material witness. A young woman, dressed in virgin white, with a black veil, advanced, and, removing a cap from the head of an infant, disclosed to the eyes of the court and jury a fine head of bright red hair, and the facsimile of Tom's mole on the chin. The cause was instantly decided to the satisfaction of all parties — perhaps excepting the unexpected father; though I thought I saw a smile of re sponsible parental pride play over his counte nance as he named me as his security to the parish, and declared that, "As I have to pay for a child, I'll have the worth of my money, and keep it myself." And to his credit be it told, that he did, and educated it respectably, and is now proud of an amiable and interesting daughter. Among the horses was a cream-coloured Han overian charger, of extraordinary beauty and immense size, and went so proud in action, " as if he disdained the ground." Though nothing in his life was applicable to his name but the leaving of it (he was killed at sea), he was called Nelson. Immediately after taking the direction of the establishment, I made myself acquainted with the titles and general character and qualifica tions of all the horses, but was not so well in formed as to how the grooms, minor people, and 'musicians were called ; and among the latter was a clarionet player, with less talent but with the same name as the horse — Nelson. But, as Juliet says, " What's in a name 1 that which we call a rose, By any other name would smell as sweet." On a Sunday, in the forenoon, Rodgers, an equestrian performer, and father to one of the first riders of the present day, called at my house, and requested to see me on very particular busi ness. Upon inquiring his errand, he said, with much solemnity of manner, " I'm very sorry to inform you, sir, that poor Nelson is dead." "Dead!" said I, .with astonishment: "why, Mr. Rodgers, it's impossible ! he was well enough last night;" for, in passing through the stable, 1 had stopped to caress the beautiful animal, and he was as full of mischief and spirit as usual. " Oh no, sir," said Rodgers, " lie was very un well for two days, and'scarcely able to perform." " Why, I knew nothing of it," I replied ; " why diin't some of them let me know? There was n.-) necessity for his being employed in anything but the entree; and, indeed, if he was sick, he shouldn't have been used even for that, if I had known it." "You're very kind, sir, I'm sure," replied the friend ofthe dead musician. " He'll be a great loss to the concern; and he was such a kind, good creature." " Why, as to his kindness, I can't agree with you there; he was most difficult to manage; but his loss, as you observe, will be irreparable.. Whendio he die?" " Early this morning. I was up with him all night. He kicked and rolled about in great ag ony, and you might have heard his groans for half a square." " Poor creature ! And what did they say was the matter with'him, Mr. Rodgers 1" I inquired. "The colic, or something of that sort; and we think it was brought on by his eating cu cumbers." " Cucumbers !" said I : " why, where did he get cucumbers?" " Mr. Blyth," he replied, " received some as a present, and he gave poor Nelson two or three." "Well, rny dear sir, they never could have hurt him ; and if they were likely to do so, Mr- Blyth, of all others" — he was our riding-master — ".would never have given them to him; you, may depend upon it, Rodgers, it was the bots." " Oh dear, no, sir," said he, with a confident veterinary manner : " that's a disease as horses: often dies on; but his was quite different; his- body was all drawn up in a heap, and the sweat. poured off him in pailfuls; we dosed him with brandy and laudanum, and kept rubbing of him,. but before the doctor arrived he was a gone- horse;" and then, with a sigh, he continued,. " There's George Yeaman, and Williams, and a. few more as came out with Old West along: with him, wishes to pay him the compliment of" giving him a funeral, and wants to know if you: would be good enough to attend ?" " Oh, pooh! that's perfectly ridiculous, Rod gers_ I respect your innocent-minded, good-hearted feeling ; I have quite as good a right to be sorry' for his death as any of you, but a funeral is alt nonsense ; we'll have him hauled away early hu the morning, and thrown in the river." " Sir !" said he, looking aghast. " Are you going back to the circus, Mr. Rod gers ?" I inquired. " No, sir," said he, " but I live within a door or two." " Well, then, you will greatly oblige me if you will call and tell Peter, or any of the grooms^ you may find there, to employ a butcher, or any one who understands the business, and have- him skinned." " Sir! what! skinned ?" said Rodgers, in as tonishment. "And if you please, tell them to have it done- carefully, and be sure not to cul off his ears and tail ; I intend to have him stuffed." " Stuffed !" said Rodgers. " Yes," said I; " and on the fourth of July, or other great occasions, we'll have him hoisted out for a sign, or use him for a dead horse, at .any rate." This brought our equivocal conversation to a climax; and, highly delighted at finding it was- Nelson the musician instead of Nelson the- horse who had been killed with cucumbers and kindness, the next morning I joined the mourn ers, and saw the poor fellow " quietly inurned." During the time Lafayette was travelling through the Union, receiving the enthusiastic homage of all classes of persons, and, by the only mode in his power, showing his gratitude by- kissing all the young women, shaking hands with the old, and blessing the little children, it PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 67 so happened that my company was always in suae city where he was not; but on his return to New- York, I fortunately encountered him ant through the influence of the committee of* arrangements, he honoured the circus with a visit, which, of course, produced an overflowing house. The box appropriated for the use of himself arftt suite I had decorated with as many flags as I could borrow from volunteer and fire companies, mechanic and masonic societies, with the French and American ensigns enfold ing each other in divers affectionate attitudes, interspersed with a profusion of every descrip tion of vegetable matter, with the exception of boughs of oak and laurel, which Billy Rider had been desired exclusively to obtain. " There, sir, that's what you sent me for," said Billy, throwing down a huge bundle of shrubs. " No, sir, it is not; I said oak and laurel." " Divil a sprig of laurel is there, I believe, in the whole State of Jarsey. By my word, sir, it was down to Weehawk I was, and back again twiced. As to oak, by the powers, there's plinty o' that at the tops o' trees where no mortal man could touch a leaf of it, av he had the legs of Goliath. By my troth, now, they are mighty green and pretty — see the red birries on that darling there — depend on it, sir, d — the difference will the ould gineral know; he's had something better to do than to be bothering bis brains about bothany ; and all those flags and finery, that's the thing itself, sir, to tickle a Frenchman." And I believe Rider was partially right, for iipon conducting the marquis to his box, for the sake of saying something, I apologized for the lack of preparation in consequence of the short ness of the notice I had received of the honour he intended; and with earnest sincerity of man ner, he exclaimed, " Sir, it is most superb !" It was notorious that he never remained more than half an hour, at farthest, at any theatre be attended; but (in my opinion) he showed his taste by witnessing the whole of our perform ance, and expressing his admiration at the prac tical jokes of the clown. I had, of course, sent refreshments to the party, which the committee, like all committees, appeared to enjoy most heartily; but observing the general didn't par take, I inquired personally if there was anything he " particularly wished, and he requested " a glass of sugar and water." Old Hays, the cele brated police-officer, whom I had stationed at the door to prevent his being killed with kind ness, I despatched for the desired beverage; and wishing " to take a drink" with the good old man, I ordered two glasses, slyly whispering Hays to put some gin in mine : when he return ed, he gave me a cunning sort of thief-catching wink to direct me to my "sling;" but the gener al having the first choice, got the gin, and I the sugar and water. We drank without a remark ; I don't know if the marquis ever repeated his dose, but I pledge my honour I never have mine. CHAPTER V. '¦' The south and west winds joined, and, as they blew, Waves, like a rowling trench, before them threw. ********** Thousands our noyses were, yet we, 'mongst all, Could none by his right name, but thunder call. Lightning was all our light ; and it rain'd more Than if the sunne had clrunke the sea before. Some coffin'd in their cabbi;.* lye, equally Grieved that they are not dead, and yet must dye ; And, as sin-burden'd soUles from grave will creepe At the last day, some forth their cabbins peep, And tremblingly aske, What news V— John Donne. The following towns constituted our circuit- New-York, Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington City, and Charleston, South Caro lina. At the last-named place a large building had been erected, but without a stage; and Blythe had been usually sent there with an ex clusively equestrian company, to perform during the winter months ; but, on Kean's revisiting the United States, as he had never been to the South, it was thought good policy to engage him, hire the theatre there, which was to rent,, make some additions to my dramatic corps, and open both establishments on alternate nights. Eighteen of the most valuable horses were se lected; the remainder, with Blythe, and a few of the grooms who couldn't " cackle," were left to occasionally perform equestrian pieces at the Park; and, with fifty-five souls, including mu sicians, artists, and carpenters, I set off for the sunny South. The journey by land, in the depth of winter, was out of the question ; it was therefore deter mined that we should sail from Baltimore ; and the ship Orbit, Captain Fish, was engaged for the purpose. She was a fine, roomy vessel, and built expressly for one of the line of packets be tween New- York and Liverpool, but not proving fast enough to compete with her magnificent al lies, had been taken out of the trade. We paid one thousand dollars for the use of her, furnish ing our own bedding and provisions, and fitting up, at our own expense, the stables upon deck, and the temporary berths and state-rooms be tween. On a fine, sunshiny Sabbath morning, though unseasonably warm for the month of January, we hauled off from the wharf, and were towed into the tide, to float down the beautiful river- harbour ofthe " Monumental City," " With glist'ning spires and pinnacles adom'd." There was not a breath of air stirring, nor a rip ple on the water to disturb the equilibrity of man or horse — a calm so profound as to realize the immortal Donne's beautiful illustration, " In one place lay Feathers and dust, to-day and yesterday ;" and, in the language of naval postscripts, "offi cers and crew all well, and in fine spirits." The ladies had the exclusive use of the regular cabin, and forward of it some divisions were made to form state-rooms for myself and family, and the married folks; and berths, or bunks, were erect ed on either side ofthe remaining space for the rest of the company. They formed themselves into different messes ; the subordinates, tespe- r-.ially those who had had experience Ira men- time matters, acting as stewards. Billy Rider was in great request ; he had crossed the Atlan tic three times, and once been cast away in a British bark bound to Belfast. The horses, well trained to go through fire or water, appear ed to care little about the novelty of their situa tion. The grooms and carpenters were divided into three parties, one of which was appointed to constantly watch and attend them, and every thing appeared to promise a pleasant trip. About noon a light breeze sprung up from the northward, and we made sail ; towards sundown it freshened considerably, and, as only a solitary lantern was allowed to swing below, all the 66 THIRTY YEARS landsmen unemployed had a good excuse for sneaking quietly to their berths. The next day the wind still continued favourable ; and the fol lowing morning I was rejoiced to find we had got rid of our pilot, and cleared the Capes. The wind kept in our favour the whole of the day and night, though blowing unequally, in sudden gusts and flurries, with cold and drizzly rain, demanding an additional allowance of blankets for the horses, and an extra glass to the men. About midnight it suddenly chopped round to the southeast, and soon increased to a violent gale, which lasted five or six hours, knocked up a tremendous sea, and then lulled away to an awful calm. The swell was dreadful; and the rolling of the ship, being accelerated by the treading of the horses on either side up and down, according to the action of the vessel, caused everything that was movable below to roll and jump, according to its specific gravity, from one side to the other, at regular intervals ; and among trunks, boots, books, demijohns, broken pitchers, and plates, in a sitting posture, looking the picture of patience, was poor Harry Moreland, arm and arm with William Isher- wood, sliding to and fro, and exclaiming at ev ery pause, " Curious !" Rider had fast hold of the hanging part of the chain-cable, a portion of which was upon deck; and the rest in the hold; he had mistaken it, I supposed, for a Stanchion, and was dangling backward and forward like the pendulum of a clock, express ing, with a woful countenance, his contrition at having "aten a meat dinner with a frind the Saturday before." I gave him absolution and an order on deck in the same breath. His boasted experience was now required. During the blow the spar on the starboard side, that was lashed fore and aft to partly support the divisions of the stalls, and keep the horses in them, had part ed, and caused some confusion ; and now the ship rolled so heavily, and the horses backing, or actually hanging by their halters at every lurch, it required all the exertion of all the hands I could muster to replace it : from the crew I could get no assistance ; they were too busily engaged in sending down the royal-mast and top-gallant-yards, close-reefing topsail, bending storm-stay-sails, and making "all snug," to re ceive the coming tempest, full warning of which was given in the most unequivocal and terrific forms. The air felt hot and thick— you could actually touch it — the swell increased ; and when the helpless ship rolled over the sullen liquid hills, the little sail she carried flapped against the masts, ushich shook to their founda tions, as she tumbled, as it were, into the abyss, •which seemed yawning to receive her. It was about ten o'clock in the day, but pitch-black ciouds, so slowly moving that you couldn't see them move, appeared to crawl all over us from every point — " above, about, or underneath" — and in a minute we were in " darkness more dread than night." You could not see your hand, nor the ropes to which you clung with instinctive horror; weath er-beaten "old sea dogs" trembled and stood aghast, mumbled out God, and mixed up pray ers and oaths in whispers. Suddenly the zig zag lightning seemed to tear asunder the curtains of eternity, plash «n the deck, and struggle at your feet ! And, on the instant, thunder, " so loud and dread" it shook your very heart, made you hold your breath, and feel both deaf and blind. 1 We heard it rushing on us ! "Look out there, men; take care of yourselves!" was a broad bint from our jolly fat-headed captain for all my val iant party, with the exception of worthy John Hallam and little Stoker, to tumble head over heels below — and well they did. It struck us forward, and with such overwhelming violence we could feel her tremble to the core#as she in stantly keeled over on her side. The sea was fairly lifted up and hurled over us in torrents, with a noise so great and uniform it knocked all sound out of the world ; we could not hear, and we could not see, but when the instantaneous flash showed a glimpse of horror which made us shut our eyes. By the gasping sensation in my throat, I believed she was quietly settling down, and all was over. I could not pray for cursing my foolhardiness in not skulking below with the rest, and being drowned with my wife and children. I had lashed myself to the belaying- pins, near the weather mizzen rigging, and was literally hanging over the " black profound," and to stir from thence with life was impossible. How long we were in this predicament I cannot even guess at, but, of course, not long — real hurri canes do not last long. The ship seemed to la bour to get her keel once more under water, and by the more frequent but less effulgent flashes of lightning we could see the fore-top mast, yard and all, hanging overboard, but not a vestige, on the leeward side, of the poor horses nor their stables ; but on the other I fancied I still saw a head or two. The mountain-like waves had been blown into something like smooth water by the extraordinary violence of the wind, which had greatly abated, though it still blew tremendously. The clouds began to separate, producing a supernatural kind of light, which would be considered awful even in the last scene of a melodrame. Close by me I found the cap tain made fast, without his hat, and the mate and several ofthe crew huddled together around the mizzenmast. I could see them scref ching to each other, and the mate, a capital sailor — I wish I could remember his name — partly tum bled and partly rolled from his moorings, and with a desperate effort, with life or death at the ends of his fingers, caught hold of the ropes be layed to the main bitts, jerked himself forward, seized the lashings of the long-boat, which still maintained her station, though emptied of her contents— two learned ponies — crawled along under the lee of her gunwale, and, with some thing like the agility of a drunken monkey, gained the weather fore rigging, and with the assistance of two of the crew, who " Claimed the danger, proud of skilful hands," the wreck was cleared from the ship, and she righted ! A good imitation of a storm-staysail was with some difficulty rigged and set, and a mizzen topsail, and she was once more under some control, and very nearly the right side up ward. All the horses on the side that had been under water, of course, were gone " No man knows whither," with the exception of a pretty little mare called Fanny. Poor Fanny ! she was named after an angel in heaven now. She was nearest the bow, and had, through fright, accident, or instinct, got her fore feet over the spar, intended to secure the stalls in front, and when the ship lay over, some booms and masts belonging to the vessel had shifted, and jambing against her legs, had PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 69 there held her fast ; though skinned and torn.no bones were broken, and in this cruel manner her lite was saved. On shore a similar accident would have sealed her death-warrant— kt* who could give an order for her execution then ? Char ley Lee was her doctor, and she recovered suf ficiently to be made a pet of. To windward, three ol the horses, wonderful to relate, were still on their legs, Platoff, Wellington, and Jack son. They were rightly named. They stood next each other, and the farthest forward, near where the hurricane first struck us, and where even now the " ruffian billows" were " Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them, With deaf'ning clamours, in the slippery shrouds." Ofthe remaining six two were still alive — Julia and poor old Jack— though dreadfully mangled, and lying panting and groaning in a heap with their dead companions : as soon as possible, with the assistance of the crew, Hallam and Stoker got them overboard. Soaked to the backbone and stupified, I scram bled below ; and there a beautiful scene present ed itself. There had not been time to batten down the hatchway after my lubbers had made their retreat, and, in consequence, tons of water at a time had been thrown down, to the amaze ment and dismay of those between decks; and men, boxes, beds, and barrels of oats were float ing about in " most admired disorder." Alarm for my absence had diverted from the mind of my wife all terror for the real danger, and my children were too young to understand it; therefore, my reappearance made all right in an instant " at home," and a " thundering stiff" glass of grog and a dry shirt soon restored me to myself. The companion gangway having been secured, the cabin was all tight and dry, and so were the ladies, I suppose; for on my arrival at Charleston, I found a barrel of bottled Scotch ale, which my friend John Boyde had put up for me, and placed in the cabin for safe keeping, full of empty bottles. Old Jones and his wife were hugging one another in a corner of my state-room; misery loves company, and they had crawled from their own to make up a pleas ant party for the other world. Sam Wisdom, my master carpenter, a fellow six feet and a half high, and stout in proportion, was sitting in his shirt on the deck a foot deep in water, like a wringing wet mandarin, blubbering over his children, and persuading the poor little innocent creatures that they were going to be drowned along with "poor pa" in a few minutes ! The gale having sensibly abated, all made snug, and the ship hove to, part of the hands were set to bail and swab. Henry Isherwood was discovered coiled away in his berth, for ward, half smothered in wet oats, and immedi ately reported to me as "killed." When the ship was thrown on her beam-ends, some barrels of " feed" for the horses, piled up in midships, had been tumbled over, and one of the heads coming in contact with his, had started, and its contents emptied all over him ; and the sea rush ing down the gangway at the same time, he, stunned with the blow, believed he was drown ed, and, in his own mind, had quietly given up the ghost. "Don't touch me," said he: "oh, don't touch me ; it's all over with me; my brains are knocked out ;" placing his hand to his head, and looking up most piteously. Sure enough, he appjared in a woful plight : large black streaks, resembling congealed blood, were trickling down his pale face, and I had no doubt but that his scull was split open; but on examining more closely, we lound the clotted blood to be nothing more than diluted molasses-candy, a large cake of which was still fast in his hair. His father had been a confectioner, and inheriting his par tiality for sweets, he had provided himself withi a large stock for the trip ; which had fallen from a ledge where it was " safely stowed," by the side of his berth, and, in his fright, he had slapped his head into it. The gale continued with more or less violence for five days the ship hove to all the time. Our captain had had no experience on that coast, andt the weather not permitting an observation to be taken, he didn't know which way to run, so pa tiently awaited the termination ofthe tempest. The company became accustomed to "the great contention of the sea and skies ;" and Hal- lam's favourite slut " Molly" having produced a fine litter of pups in the hour of peril, amply- repaid that worthy fellow for all his toil and danger. Platoff and Wellington both died be fore the termination ofthe blow; but old Jack son stuck it out till we got into smooth water, and then, as Billy Rider said, "Poor creature, he kicked the bucket in comfort, any how." After mistaking Georgetown light for Charles ton, and bumping us half to pieces on Frying- pan Shoals, we succeeded in reaching our des tined port, in the " ship Orbit, Captain Fish, fif teen days from Baltimore, with loss of a deck- load of horses." CHAPTER VI. "But ye ! ye are changed since I saw you last ; The shadow of ages has round you been cast ; Ye are changed — ye are changed — and I see not here What I once saw in the long-vanish'd year." Mrs. Hemans " Alas ! poor gentleman, He look'd not like the ruins of his youth, But like the ruin of those ruins." — John Ford. Leaving the ship, as a climax, thumping on the bar with which Nature has defended a har bour in appearance only excelled by the Bay of Naples, the Cove of Cork, and perhaps equalled by New- York, the custom-house officer politely landed myself and family at the Battery in his boat. As recommended, I took up my abode at the Broad-street House, an excellent hotel, con sidered the first in the city, and, to my surprise, kept by a gray-headed negro called Jones, i found letters from Simpson, as yet, of course, ignorant of the loss, stating that, depending oa the high reputation of the vessel, he had saved the expense of ensurance, which he had under taken to effect in New- York at a much lower rate than I could get it done in Baltimore. It seemed as if we had struck a vein of bad luck. Another "discontented paper" gave me an ac count of Kean's having been driven from the: stage in that city, and inquiring if, under the cir cumstances, his engagement had not better be cancelled. The painful responsibility of my po sition at this juncture is even now irksome ta refer to: a large amount of property, owned by various individuals, exclusively at my disposal, and deprived, by distance, of their advice or as sistance. To the performers, whose travelling expenses we paid, and a salary every Saturday in the year, I was indebted, in consequence of the length of the journey, nearly three thousand dol lars. A very doubtful point if Kean would be 70 THIRTY YEARS received, and without him, my company, select ed exclusively for his support, most unfit to play even a saving game; the very sinews of attrac tion torn from the circus, and the man-end of my numerous Centaurs walking about with nothing but their hands in their pockets, and heavy wa ges hourly accumulating. I was seated at the dinner-table, making be lieve to eat, when a servant handed me a note. The address " To Howell, Esq.," would have prevented my examining the contents, but that the man assured me I was the person in tended. It ran as follows : " Colonel M'Clane presents his compliments to Mr. Howell : through the newspapers has heard of his loss, and begs he will send some of his riders to select from his stable as many horses as he may consider likely to aid him in opening his circus. He has a number of horses, and among them some well adapted for the purpose; and all, or any, are at Mr. Howell's service, for as long as he may have occasion for them. " Cliarleston, Wednesday" This from a stranger, who did not even know my name, spoke the current language of the warm-hearted natives of South Carolina. I, of course, accepted the offer, and in an hour the grooms, with mueh glee, paraded under my win dow some dozen animals, as beautiful as were " E'er created, to be awed by man." Cheered by this unsought-for proof of kindness, I addressed a commonplace note — for I despise the usual "your-petitioner-will-ever-pray" appli cation — to the intendant and wardens, to request, under the circumstances, a diminution of the usual sum charged for a license for each estab lishment; and the next morning I received the following : " City Council, February 7, 1826. "Read a letter from Joe Cowell, requesting Council to remit a portion ofthe license impo sed on the Theatre and Circus for the ensuing season. " Resolved, that the whole of the license be lemitted. Extract from the minutes. " William Roach, " Joe Cowell, Esq." " Clerk of Council. This was five hundred dollars saved, and, what was almost as valuable, a farther proof of a strong public feeling in my favour. I instant ly wrote to Simpson to send me Kean, " With all his imperfections on his head," having hope that the interest created by the drowned horses would gain him leave to swim. I have an objection to publish a letter intended by the writer-only for the perusal ofthe party to whom it is directed. But the following laconic epistle so much better conveys an insight ofthe character of my friend Simpson than any de scription that I might undertake to write, that ] cannot forbear making it public: " New-York, February 13, 1826. " Dear Joe, " The Othello reported the ship Orbit on Charleston bar, with the loss of a deck-load of horses, before I got your melancholy letter. Gcd be praised, we can stand it ! I didn't en sure, depending, as I said in my former letter, on the high reputation ofthe vessel. Keep up your spirits. I'm sure you will get out of the sciape somehow. Yours truly, E. Simpson. " What shall we do about Kean ?" This from the largest sufferer, and the most responsible of the firm, in case of a failure, speaks volumes in proof of the calm, Atlas-like support with which, for so many years, he sus tained the fortunes of the Park Theatre. The amateur horses, whose " very failings set them off," were an attraction. Dr. Porcher, Mr. Kennedy, and several gentlemen, followed the example of the colonel, and parties were made up, by persons who had never before vis ited a circus, to see how a favourite horse would behave in the ring. The inefficiency of my the atrical corps was hoodwinked by sympathy for my misfortunes, and we performed, in conse quence, to much better business than we prob ably should have done had we offered a supe rior entertainment, without the difficulties at tending its preparation. Every means in my power I artfully used to smooth the path for Kean's reception; having it generally understood by the public that on his success was hinged the hope of redeeming my fallen fortunes. But still the Eastern papers were torturing his offence into a national insult; and calling on the chivalry of the South to avenge the wrongs this immoral play-actor had heaped upon the country ! I had determined that there should be no time allowed to organize a plan of hostility, at any rate, by having the bills already printed, announcing " Kean's first appearance this evening," and intending, no mat ter when he arrived, that he should perform the same night ; but in this point of policy I was in part defeated, by the ship Othello, in which Simpson had advised me he was a passenger, being reported "¦ below" early on a Sunday morning. I boarded the vessel before she cross ed the bar, and found this wreck of better days feeble in body, and that brilliant, poetic face, a Raphael might have envied for a study, " sick lied o'er with the pale cast of thought." Hia first inquiry was, if the public were hostile to his appearing; and like a child he appealed to me: "Cowell, for God's sake — by the ties of old fellowship and countrymen — I entreat you not to let me play, if you think the audience will not receive me. I have not strength of mind or body — look how Fm changed since you saw me last — to endure a continuance ofthe persecutions. I have already endured, and I be lieve a repetition of them would kill me on the spot." I, of course, encouraged him to hope all would go well; but on landing from the boat, some twenty idlers collected, and as we turned from the wharf, hissed and groaned; the well-known, hateful sound seemed to enter his very soul, and looking up in my face, with " God help me !" quivering on his parted lips, he clung to my arm, as if for succour, not support. I assured him the disapprobation was meant for an officer of the customs, in whose boat we had landed, who was objectionable to the people ; and doubting, yet hoping it was true, I conducted him to my house next to the theatre, which had been left handsomely furnished by the improvident Gil fert, and which I had hired for the season. He passed ti e day with me and some new found friends, and made himself, as he always could when he thought proper, most agreeable. " The sweetest morsel of the night we 5ft unpick ed," and early in the evening I conducted him to his quarters which 1 had prepared for him at Jones's. He was delighted with his black land lord, and astonished to find that a negro could PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 71 ¦amass a fortune, and possess all the rational ad vantages of a well-behaved white man, in the same situation of life, in a slave state. His no tions of slavery had more than likely been al together formed by acting in the opera of Paul and Virginia. Though most comfortably lodged, he assured me the next day he had never closed his eyes; his anxiety had brought alone such rest " As wretches have o'er night Who wait for execution in the morn." What would be the night's event, who could tell? The public is a hard riddle to find out, but when you do happen to hit upon it, how sim ple it is. Fifty friends gave fifty different opin ions, each with an " if" so that each might after say, " There, I told you so." For my own part, I, of course, most earnestly desired his success, and therefore honestly believed his genius would triumph. Not a place was taken, but the house was filled soon after the doors were opened. Before it was uncomfortably crowded, I stopped the sale of tickets, for nothing puts an auditor so soon out of humour as a disagreeable seat. Kean had set his "soul and body on the ac tion both," and I never saw him play better. At his entrance, all was " hushed as midnight" — a quiet so profound "that the blind mole might not hear a footfall;" and this awful attention continued during the whole performance, when ever he was on the stage; and when the curtain fell, some few "amazed spectators hummed ap plause." There was but one lady in the whole house! the wife of the district attorney, and a warm friend to the drama. Woman, in thy pu rity, how powerful thou art ! The presence of this one acted like a charm. She sat alone, the beauteous representative of the moral courage of her sex, and awed to respectful silence the predetermined turbulence of twelve hundred men! Poor Kean was in ecstasies at his escape. The next morning nearly all the places were secured for Wednesday, and a splendid house ful of ladies, as well as gentlemen, assembled to witness his master-piece, Othello. At his en trance, some ill-advised applause was instantly drowned in a shower of hisses; and in the early portion of the play, several sudden expressions of disapprobation occurred ; and in the third act, at nearly the end of his fine scene with Iago, the storm so long pent up burst forth; some or anges, thrown on the stage, appeared to be the signal for a general tumult " Of roaring, shrieking, howling, With strange and several noises," in the midst of which I had the curtain lowered, -opened the stage door, and presented myself to the audience. It was my intention to have made an appeal to their indulgence on my own ac count ; but remembering " The silence, often, of pure innocence Persuades when speaking fails," I assumed as innocent an appearance as I knew how, proceeded quietly and slowly to pick up the atoms of oranges and apples, looked unut terable things, and once " I lifted up my head, and did address Myself to motion, like as / would speak ; But even then — " I bowed myself across the stage and departed, . amid thunders of applause ! and, before it had subsided, thrust Kean on with Desdemona, who, " As' a child, would go by my direction ;" and the same people who, a minute before, were pelting him with rubbish, rose on their seats, and with " caps, hands, and tongues, applauded to the clouds," and the play proceeded with un disputed approbation ! ! At the end, Kean was loudly called for ; but, from experience, know ing that for him to open his mouth, filled with language of his own, would probably ruin all, I pleaded his exhaustion as an excuse for his making me the means to express the grateful sense he had of their kindness, and tendered his respectful acknowledgments. The next day some of the first men in the city left him their cards; dinner-parties were made expressly for him; carriages were proffered for his use; the rarities of the season or climate poured in upon him ; and the numerous atten tions shown him by the kind, yet aristocratic inhabitants of Charleston, equalled, and were more gratifying to his feelings, than the hollow- hearted homage paid to him by a crowd of flat terers in the sunshine of his career. He receiv ed fifty pounds sterling per night: that is, two hundred and twenty-two dollars and twenty-two cents ; but our profits, notwithstanding, went far towards redeeming the pecuniary part of our losses. I had some really talented people in my em ploy; but, from the want of numbers, many of my grooms and riders had to be trusted with subordinate characters, and their Shaksperian blunders were actually serviceable in keeping the audience in good humour. Charley Lee — the father of the now juvenile rival to Ellsler — a most valuable creature in a stable, and excel lent in a monkey, performed one of the officers in King Lear, and in reply to Kean's saying, " 1 killed the slave : did I not, fellow V answered, in his natty manner, " Tis true, my lord ! see where the good king Has slew'd two on 'em '." My king was an ignorant, dissipated brute, whom I bad, unfortunately, engaged on his own recommendation. His incapacity was most vexatious, but sometimes very droll. As Dun can, where Lady Macbeth enters to receive him at the Castle, instead of a speech of some four or five lines, he merely said, " Ah ! here's the hostess ! we thank you for your trouble." And after her speech, in lieu of continuing the dialogue, in a pompous but familiar manner he said, " Where's Cawder ? Is he not home yet? Well, no matter ; we'll sleep with you to-night. Give me your hand; walk in, madam; we in tend to be very particular with you;" and off he went, with a good laugh at his heels. His King, in Hamlet, could not be described. In the last scene, after mixing up " the kettles and the trumpets, the cannons, the thunder, and the heavens," in a most ludicrous manner, he ended with, " Stop a minute ! give me the cup ; here's your good health ! Come, Hamlet, take a drink." The easy, tavern-style in which this was said was too much for Kean's gravity ; the audience caught the laugh from him, and the curtain went down, as it ought to do, at the termination of a very broad farce ; but it ended his career with me. The next day I gave him two weeks' sal ary, paid his passage to New- York, and have never seen the poor devil since. Kean was so delighted with the place and the people that he determined to remain until the season was concluded. A friend gave him the 72 THIRTY* YEARS use of a country house on Sullivan's Island — a most romantic sandbank in the centre of the harbour. With two Newfoundland dogs of mine, a pet deer, and the Fanny mare, he was " alone in his glory ;" for it was literally unin habited in the winter, with the exception of a few soldiers in the fort. He played Bertram for my benefit, on the last night, to the largest amount then ever received at the Charleston Theatre. He took his passage with me in the ship Saluda, and with " Calm seas, auspicious gales, and sail so expeditious," that in three days, recruited in mind and body, he arrived at New- York, " in the merry month of May," 1826. ' Poor Kean! I never more saw him act; and though, for years after, his brightness flickered at intervals on the gloomy path of the declining drama, it never blazed again with its uniform, unequalled brilliancy. His neglected early life had grafted habits on his nature totally at vari ance with his pure poetic taste, and giant-like strength of admiration of all that was great and noble in art, and made him the contradictory, and, at times, objectionable creature which, in general, he is so exclusively described. The truth of the adage in his case was painfully pro ved : he knew not who was hisfatlier. When all the thinking world were awe-struck in contem plating his genius, several were named as hav ing a title to that honour, and among them the late Duke of Norfolk ; and Kean was weak enough to appear proud of this parental appro priation. A Mrs. Carey, who was an inferior actress at one ofthe minor theatres, claimed him as her son ; and whether he believed her to be his mother or not, he supported her and her daughter for years. The startling effect of his style of acting, bold ly and suddenly setting at defiance the law and decorum ofthe long-accustomed school of which a Siddons and a Kemble were the models, can not be conceived at this day, where every aspi rant to dramatic fame totters in the path his genius boldly trod, and "drags at each remove a lengthening chain ;" for, though he left behind no parallel to his excellence, he created a host of imitators, down to the third and fourth gener ation. The novelty of his manner may be un derstood by the following anecdote, which he told me himself. At his first rehearsal at Drury Lane, "steeped in poverty to the very lips," wrapped in an old, rough greatcoat — though it was warm weather — and his appearance alto gether bespeaking his estate, several ofthe well- clothed and well-fed minions of the drama did not condescend to rehearse with him at all ; and those who did, refused to deviate from the ac customed business of the stage, which, right or wrong, they had followed for years, and turned into unconcealed ridicule his temerity in presu ming to suggest any alteration of the acknowl edged laws. Among others, he particularly named De Camp — he, poor fellow, long since died of a dysentery, mixed up with old age and abject poverty, in Texas! He eloquently, yet playfully, described the laceration of his feelings at hearing his peculiarities of voice imitated be hind the scenes, accompanied by " The loud laugh, that speaks the vacant mind." Amid these "outward and visible signs" of con tempt for his talent, old Miss Tidswell, who had played small characters in the theatre since Gar- rick's time, I believe, and who afterward called herself his aunt, poked him in the back with heT umbrella " to entreat listening," beckoned him to the wing, and petitioned him not to persevere in playing: explaining, that all the acton and good judges were laughing at him ; and point ing out to him the horrible disgrace of his inev itably being pelted from the stage would be to her, as she had acknowledged him as a distant rela tion, and introduced him as such to some per formers of her own class in the second green room ! ! Wounded in spirit, he left the theatre, half in clined to follow her advice; not in consequence of any doubt in his own mind of his capacity — for true talent is always self-informed— but to shrink from the dirty annoyances attending its assertion. But, fortunately, he met at the door an old comrade, from some country theatre, to> whom he unburdened his " o'er-fraught heart," and the poor disciple of Thespis being in pos session ofthe extraordinary sum of five shillings, Kean accompanied him to a tavern. After a good dinner, a pot of porter, and the warm en couragement of his ragged but sincere friend,, he went to the theatre, desperate in his determi nation to succeed ; played Shylock to a very in different house, but sealed his fame forever. CHAPTER VII. " The first tragedians found that serious style Too grave for their uncultivated age, And so brought wild and naked satyrs in (Whose motions, words, and shape were all a farce) As oft as decency would give them leave ; Because the mad, ungovernable rout. Full of confusion and the fumes of wine, Loved such variety and antic tricks." Roscommon's Horaces Booth, though not a servile imitator of Kean, founded his manner exclusively on his style.. He played precisely the same round of charac ters, dressed them exactly in the same costume,, and, being naturally like "him in appearance, the similitude was extraordinary. Kean's trans cendent genius had so dazzled the public taste,, that his defects of voice and figure, " by the aid of use," were actually considered necessary at tributes, and Booth possessed the same advan tages. Old Dowton morosely said, when Kean first appeared, " God renounce me ! 'tis only ne cessary nowadays to be under four feet nigh,. have bandy legs, and a hoarseness, and, mince- my liver ! but you'll be thought a great trage dian." Soon after Booth's arrival in this country, he declared his intention of becoming a citizen, and purchased a small farm, if it might so be called, near the village of Belle-air, in Maryland — the- only steril section of land I know of in the whole state; deposited his wife and family in a log cabin, and shone himself, periodically, as a star of the first magnitude through the theatrical- hemisphere. Scrupulously avoiding all osten tatious display, he adopted the reverse extreme : attired in a conspicuously plebeian garb, he would take up his quarters at some humble tav ern or obscure boarding-house ; and when he visited Baltimore (being near his home), he usu»- ally attended the market with some vegetables, a load of hay, or sat with a calf, tied by the leg, till time to rehearse " Richard the Third." His simple Republican deportment, well spiced, when occasion served, with " the jolly dog" and " the good fellow," who was "not too proud" to sing PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 73 Billy Taylor" in a beerhouse, or give you a taste of his quality in an oyster-cellar, rendered him most popular with the multitude ; a scholar and a linguist, he was an intelligent listener to the pothouse pedant, and could "drink with any linker in his own language;" carefully con cealing any advantages he possessed above the capacity of his companions, his acquirements were lauded and admitted : for it is the charac teristic of the nation, as I have read it, some times to allow a foreigner to be equal, but never superior in anything. This probably accidental mode of conduct, naturally enough, compared with his prototype Kean's arbitrary offences, aided by Booth's undisputed talent, for years caused him to be greatly followed and admired. His father, who was a devotee to the doctrines, civil and religious, which clogged with blood the wings of liberty during the French Revolu tion, named him Junius Brutus, as a type of the stern Republican character he hoped his son would achieve ; and with an excellent education mixed the seeds of those dogmas which, no mat ter how gilded o'er by the poetic imaginings of a Voltaire, a Byron, or a Shelley, are to a mind early tutored to adopt them, and undefended by Christianity, dangerous to the happiness of the social compact, and fatal to the ties with which conscience should bind the intercourse with our fellow-man. It is a dreadful mischance to be early cast upon the world without a guide or protector; but worse, far worse, to have our way of life pointed out by those in whose direction nature tells us to believe, and pursue, at their instiga tion, a path through this world's pilgrimage at which our young, pure feeling hesitates at the outset, and experience proves leads to a death bed divested of hope beyond the grave. Kean's irregularities were coarse and brutal, but their ill effects recoiled exclusively upon himself; Booth's involved the destiny of those nearest and dearest; for years he sheltered him self from their consequences by assuming mad ness; and the long practice of this periodical " antic disposition," like Hamlet's, ended in its bemg, I believe, partially the fact. In one of his trips to New-Orleans, two itinerant preachers were on the same boat, whose zeal in distrib uting tracts, and obtrusive interference with the usual amusements on a steamer, made them objectionable to all, but particularly to Booth, and he invented the following severe scheme of retaliation. He had a large sum of money about him, and, when alt were asleep in bed, he placed his pocket-book, with a portion of the notes, under the mattress of one of the par sons, and the balance, with some papers easily described, in the pocket of the other. Early in the morning, before the clergymen were up, he loudly proclaimed his loss, and a general search was ordered by the captain, to which all cheer fully submitted; when the property was found, the astonishment of all could only be equalled by the supposed culprits themselves. In vain their protestations of innocence ; the boat was landed, and they, according to "Lynch law," were to receive a severe flagellation, and then oe left in the wilderness. This, of course, Booth could not permit, and he explained the joke he had intended, without dreaming of the conse quences. The indignation ofthe passengers, influenced bv their excited feelings, might fearfully have turned the direction of their revenge, but that '.'everybody knew Mr. Booth was an oddity,'" and " at times supposed to be insane." A sketch. of his numerous eccentricities would alone fill a volume ; but, being generally divested of wit or humour, and, for the most part, mischievous in their character, an account of them would be painful to either write or read. I don't mean to assert that his having been called after the pat tern of severe justice, who assumed the mask of folly in the cause of virtue, had any influence on the conduct of Booth; but baptizing children as- if to designate their character is a nonsensical custom, and ought to be condemned. There are enough good, homely Christian names, in all conscience, to satisfy the varied tastes of the most fastidious, and this deviation from the beat en track to please the doting folly of a mother, or the political prejudices of a father, is often, in after life, a positive affliction to the bearer ; for if they equal, in mind or station, their illustrious namesakes, the glory they achieve is liable to- be passed to the credit of their predecessors;. and should their talent, appearance, or opinion be at variance with their title, it will often place them in a painful or ridiculous position. Ima gine a politician writing a long tirade against " removing the deposites," and then being obliged to sign himself "Andrew Jackson ;" or " Apollo," a knife-grinder, with a hump at his back ; or " Diogenes" apprenticed to a washing- tub maker. I feel positively obliged to my god fathers and godmothers for having unostenta tiously named me after the amiable, ragged- coated, modest Joseph ; and the etymology of the designation I have been fortunate enough to- prove the appropriateness of, by being already the father and grandfather, to a certainty, of chil dren in two quarters of the world; at any rate- When Bonaparte was First Consul, an honest old Church apd King parson, at Manchester, in England, who was wearied with the frequency ofthe name ofthe future emperor being claimed for a child born to be a weaver or spinner, at length determined to christen no more so ridicu lously; and upon inquiring the name intended: for the next infant presented, was answered, as- usual, " Napoleon." " In the name," &c., says the clergyman, " I baptize thee John." "John!" says the astonished father; "I tell'd> thee to call the lad Napoleon." " Pooh, pooh, nonsense !" says the parson ; " i have christened him John. Take him away, and call him what you like." I wish all parsons would do the same. The yellow fever gave so broad a hint as to- the necessity of buildings being prepared in the upper sections of the city, that New- York in creased in that direction with a rapidity that was truly astonishing. A very superior theatre was- erected on the site ofthe old Bull's Head Tav ern in the Bowery, a short time before consider ed out of town, and used as the cattle mart. The control was placed in the hands of Charles Gil fert, a highly-accomplished German, whose chief ambition was to manage a theatre on an exten sive scale, and be considered "'more knave than fool," in both of which desires he was fully grat ified; for the establishment given to him to con duct infinitely exceeded in its extent and appoint ments any then on the continent, and everybody agreed he was a consummate rogue. Thought less, extravagant, and unprincipled as to the means used to obtain on the instant his real or 74 THIRTY YEARS imaginary wants in his private station, he car-. ried with him the same reckless spirit to control the fortunes of others. Large inducements were .held out to the various members ofthe profession to join the concern, and an excellent, hot very costly, company was engaged; and though the overflowing houses attracted by the newness, and, perhaps, superiority of the entertainments, were ruinous to the Park, the expenditure quite equalled the receipts. Barrett was the stage- manager; and though at that time not distin- . guished by the title of " Gentleman George," he. was as deserving of the appellation then as now. But if one had been selected which would haye more clearly conveyed the idea of an inconsid erately liberal, kind-hearted man, it would better have described his intrinsic character. As an ¦actor in smart, impudent servants, eccentric parts, bordering on caricature, and light eomedy, where the claims to the gentleman do not exceed those required for Corinthian Tom, he is excel lent. He has attempted to perform some old men lately, in consequence, I suppose, of his whiskers getting gray ; but, if he'll take my ad vice, he'd better dye them, and stick to his old line of business : six feet four is too tall to fit the ¦common run of elderly gentlemen nowadays. He went to England a few years since, and very imprudently made his appearance at Drury Lane as Puff, in the " Critic," a character requiring a 'Jong acquaintance with both the actors and audi- •ence to be made effective; the innocent jokes, at the expense of either, always introduced, and the principal means of rendering the character amusing, if called in aid by a perfect stranger, would either be not noticed at all, or considered a liberty. According to Bunn's sore-minded book, the performance was a failure, which he merely mentions in proof of the general inability of the Americans to become actors; but for his partic ular information I beg to state that George Bar rett was born in England, of English parents, 'though he arrived in this country when a boy; and, therefore, his incapacity, according to Bunn's judgment, must be "all owing to the climate," as poor Watkinson said when he was dying, in ¦consequence of drinking too much brandy-and- water. For years the drama had been generally under can bear ?" Joseph Jefferson died at Harrisburg, Pennsyl vania, the 6th day of August, 1832. CHAPTER IX. " The book of man he read with nicest art, And ransack'd all the secrets of the heart ; Exerted penetration's utmost force, And traced each passion to its proper source." Churchill. 1 had secured a galaxy of stars of the first magnitude : among them, Macready, Cooper, Forrest, Mrs. Knight, and others of distinction ; but for attraction, none could compete with the brilliant Lydia Kelly ; her extraordinary success must have astonished herself. When she was first underlined at the Park, one of those well- known theatrical insects who flutter round a box-office, and because they are free ofthe house, conceive themselves privileged to be imperti nent, said to Price, " Why, Price, they say this Miss Kelly is not the celebrated Miss Kelly, but a sister of hers. Is that the fact 1" " Why, doctor," says Stephen, " I'll tell you what it is; there are three celebrated Miss Kel lys in London, and as I had my choice, I should have been a b — fool if I hadn't picked out the best." If Price had his "choice," he certainly showed his wit in the selection. Fanny, the celebrated, was a delicacy, a nice little bit — five or six green peas on a plate to prove such things can be in the world at Christmas. Now a London audi ence can afford to pay for such luxuries, but the drama in this country, Price was well aware;. required more substantial food. Fanny's per fection of art, too, always savoured of the kitch en, or, at any rate, it never got higher than the back parlour, or the bar-room of an inn; and then, indeed, if she happened to be "Mary the maid," you would see the most consummate skill so skilfully concealed, that acting ceased to be; all she did was reality, but it was the reality of humble life, and, therefore, she couldn't even. make believe to be Beatrice or Lady Teazle \. and those were the sort of characters that were the most attractive here. Now Lydia could in troduce us to the drawing-room : it was one of her own, to be sure, but she was very free, and easy, and agreeable there, and she showed us the fashions; they, perhaps, were her own too; but she was a splendid-looking woman, and they were very dashing and effective, and, therefore, much admired; and so were her songs, and her legs, which she showed her good sense by show ing she was not ashamed of showing, when the part she had to perform required such a display .. To be sure, some ladies who are engaged to be " generally useful" are often thrust into- " breeches parts" whether they like it or not ;. and then, poor dears, they have a right to seem ashamed of themselves if they like it, and it i» highly probable that sometimes they really are. During the run of the pantomime called "Jack and the Bean Stalk" at Drury Lane, Miss Povey,. who played Jack — by-the-by, it was singing a solo in the opening of this very pantomime that first brought Miss Povey into notice : I think I hear it now ; how exquisitely it vibrates on the- memory, as deliciously as the never-to-be-for gotten warble of the tame redbreast, the pet of my childhood ! What a pity it was she married little Knight ! Well, Mrs. Knight — Miss Povey, I mean — played Jack, climbed up a pole, and sung like a cock-robin. But the pretty flaxen-headed lit tle creature felt embarrassed in breeches, and,. therefore, had permission to use the principal green-room, which, though not more private than the general one, was safe from vulgar eyes.. And there, in the right-hand corner next the window, the siren would take her station — look ing more like a boy than a girl — at least two hours before she'd be wanted in the last piece.. Her little feet, " and the demesnes that there ad jacent lie," " folded like two cross boughs ;" the skirts of the little brown coat tucked over her knees, and her hat on her lap with the crown up ward ; and without scarcely moving or looking,, there she'd sit, the perfect picture of purity, in pantaloons. But this was all " The fault and glympse of newness ;" when she did as she pleased, boys of all sorts were her favourite characters. What a pity it was little Knight died without hearing Father Matthew lecture on temperance ! John Greene and his wife were both members of the company, but in very subordinate situa tions. He happened to be cast the Irishman in " Rosina," and I was amazed, both at the fine rich brogue he possessed, and his quaint, natural manner of personating the Paddy. I was the- more surprised, because Wood, to whom I had applied for information as to the talent of all the strangers to me in the company, had descri bed this couple particularly as only fit to be trust ed wilh a line or two. I inquired of Greene if he could study O'Dedimus, a very long part in the- PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 79 comedy called " Man and Wife," which I wished to do for Miss Kelly, and, from necessity, had cast the part to myself. Of course, he under took it, and played it gloriously, astonished everybody, and Billy Wood into the bargain. / got up John Bull, principally for the sake of his Dennis, and though, altogether, the play was very well performed, Greene made the great hit; it was acted on the stars' off-nights for many times more than the usual number of running a stock piece, to crowded houses, and for four or five of the benefits, his own among the number, filled to overflowing. I have no doubt I have seen a hundred Brulgruderies in my time, including Jack Johnstone and Power, but none of them are fit to hold a candle to John Greene, and I feel cer tain old George Colman " the younger" would have been exactly of my way of thinking. Johnstone was the beau ideal of Major O'Fla- herty and characters of that class — the Irish gen tleman, of the Jonah Barrington school, he looked, and was — and Power— the thing itself for the val ets: the insolence and coxcombry of such parts he hit off delightfully on the stage, though the same style of manner made him exceedingly ob jectionable in a green-room. But for the Teagues, the Murtochs, and the Looneys, " the boys," the genuine, unsophistica ted Paddy, with a natural genius for cutting ca nals and drinking whiskey, give me the Native American Irishman, John Greene. His good lady, of course, did not remain long in the background. Her high respectability is now too generally known to need any commendation from me. She can play the Clueen in Hamlet better than any one I ever saw in America ; and for the simple reason, that she can play Lady Macbeth much better than many who would con sider the Clueen in Hamlet as derogating to their talent. About this time actors began to be manufac tured by wholesale. The great and deserved success of Forrest induced, of course, a host of athletic young men to follow at a distance his career. But something more than a mere imi tation of his powers being needed to command attention to their early efforts, native talent was the medium through which their claims to ex cellence were expected to be viewed with in creased brilliancy, and their failings entirely ob scured. Some few have attained high consider ation ; but, unfortunately for themselves, keep ing you constantly in mind of their great master, they oblige you to take largely from their own intrinsic merits. Pelby was one of the first " na tive American tragedians;"- that is, the first who made a living exclusively on amor patriae capi tal. He had a clumsy figure, rather a good face, and a very peculiar voice ; he could boast of originality of style, at any rate, for he was to tally unlike anybody I ever saw in my life. John Jay Adams was taught to read Hamlet by Pritch ard on condition that he would appear for his benefit at the Park, which he did during my first season ; and I thought it the very best first at tempt I ever saw. He was a wholesale tobacco nist, and retail dealer in literature ; he wrote very pretty poetry for some of the Sunday papers, and only played now and then ; but got worse by de grees ; and when 1 last saw him he was "stock ing bad." Cooper's faults had been so long copied, and, of course, increased in the appropriation, that there was not an objectionable, and, at the same time original bit left for anew beginner to found a style on; but Booth, keeping, with truth and) purity, a living likeness of Kean's beauties full inv view, had, of course, all the smaller-sized mad. actors as his satellites ; but 1 know of none worth naming among tliem except C. H. Eaton. He achieved a son of popularity, and the distin guished title, in tlie playbills, of the "Young American Tragedian." In addition to his giv ing a most excellent imitation of Booth's acting,. he assumed a lamentable caricature of his eccen tricities off the stage. Now there was method in Booth's madness : however ridiculous his an tics were, they only excited pity, but never laugh ter. There was a melancholy responsibility, if it may so be called, about all he said and did. while in " phrensy 's imagined mood," that if you- believed he was insane, it would grieve you to the heart to see a noble mind thus overthrown ;, and if you thought it was assumed, it would cause quite as painful a feeling to think that one so gifted should condescend' to ape degraded na ture. But Eaton's secondhand vagaries were disgusting; his distorted fancies, too, like other monstrosities, had to call in the aid of alcohol to perpetuate their first-conceived deformity. Poor fellow ! he carried the joke too far at last, and felL from a balcony at his hotel, after performing one night at Pittsburgh, last May, ana died in a day or two afterward. During this season, 1826-7, I had the gratifi cation of introducing two ofthe " fairest of crea tion" as candidates for histrionic fame — a daugh ter of Old Warren and a daughter of Old Jeffer son. They were cousins, and about the same age. Hetty Warren had decidedly the best of the race for favour at the start; but Elizabeths Jefferson soon shot ahead, and maintained a de cided superiority. Poor girls ! they were both born and educated in affl uence, and both lived to • see their parents sink to the grave in compara tive poverty. Hetty married a great big man called Willis, a very talented musician, much^ against the will of her doting father ; and, like most arrangements of the kind, it proved a sorry one. Elizabeth became the wife of Sam Chap man in 1828 ; he was a very worthy fellow, with.- both tact and talent in his favour, and her lot promised unbounded happiness. Who could have imagined that this young creature's heart should have been lacerated, and the entangle ment of a first and fervent love unravelled and let loose for life, because the Reading mail was robbed 1 but so it was. Now is this fate 1 Wliat should it be called if it is not ? The Reading mail stage, with four fine, fast horses— for Jemmy Rceside had the contract — with. nine male passengers and the driver, was stopped by three footpads — Porter, Potete, and Wilson — a few miles from Philadelphia, in the middle of the. night. The horses were unhitched, and fast ened to the fence, the driver's and the passen gers' hands tied behind them with their own handkerchiefs, and quietly and civilly rifled of" their property, without their making the slightest. resistance ! A watch, I think, said to be the gift of a mother or wife, and some other matters of private value, Porter, an Irishman, and the principal robber, politely returned ; helped him self to a " chaw" of tobacco, and replaced the- " plug" in the passenger's pocket ; gave another- some loose change ; and, in fact, conducted the- whole affair with most admired decorum, and then took a respectful leave of his ten victims, sent his aides, with the mail-bags, into the woods, ane? departed. The entire operation was considered; 80 THIRTY YEARS the most gentlemanly piece of highwayism that had occurred for some time, and caused much excitement. Potete turned state's evidence ; Wil son's life was spared by President Jackson, and Porter, whose courage and urbanity were the ad miration of everybody, was hanged. Chapman, who was extremely clever at dram atizing local matters, took a ride out to the scene ¦of the robbery, the better to regulate the action of a piece he was preparing on the subject, was thrown from his horse, and slightly grazed his shoulder. He had to wear that night a suit of brass armour, and the weather being excessive ly hot, he wore it next his skin, which increased 'the excoriation ; and it was supposed the verde- ¦gris had poisoned the wound. At any rate, he •died in a week after the accident, and left his joung wife, near her confinement, and a widow •in less than a year after her happy marriage. " Oh ! grief beyond all other griefs, when fate First leaves the young heart lone and desolate In the wide world." It is the custom in Philadelphia for a vast Slumber of persons to attend all funerals. Chap man being popular, his death sudden and singu lar, and his poor little wife a native of the city, and adored by everybody, an immense concourse -assembled. I walked and talked, as is the fash ion, at the heels of some two hundred peripatet ics, arm in arm with Edwin, the well known and excellent stipple-engraver, and the son of the great comedian, the original Lingo, and Darby. We were deep in disputation, and over •our shoes in mud in crossing a street, when an other large funeral procession passed through ¦ours, in another direction, and caused some con fusion. Absorbed in listening to anecdotes of his father, and Lord Barrymore's private theatricals, -we reached the cemetery, and I proposed that Tve should make our way towards the grave, ¦that the poor father and "brother might be aware ¦of our attendance ; we did so, and listened to a ¦portion of the beautiful service, then looked round, with that timid glance always assumed on such occasions ; but no sorrowful look of 'recognition was exchanged ; every face was -strange; I nudged my companion; we peeped under the handkerchief of each weeping mourn er; there was ho Old Chapman with spectacles bedewed; turned round at a stifled sob; it was not Williams; no, nor anybody that we knew; all were strangers. The truth stared us in the face — we had got mixed up in the other proces sion, and had been making believe to cry over ihe wrong corpse ! A mind such as Forrest's, running riot, like the vines of his native woods, in uncultivated ¦luxuriance, was predisposed to be impressed 'with an enthusiasm amounting to adoration by the eleetrieal outbreakings of such a genius as Kean's, " Who, passing nature's bounds, was something more." But a model, whose excellence was inspira tion, gave an impetus, rather than a check, to its own naturally wild, spontaneous growth; and, untrained by art, Forrest's splendid talent, choked by its own voluptuousness, might even now be rotting in obscurity. Macready's arri val in this country may, therefore, be said to Jiave formed an epoch in the history of the American drama. " In ancient learning train'd, His rigid judgment fancy's flights restrained, Correctly pruned each wild, luxuriant thought, Mark'd out her course, nor spared a glorious fault." This great practical example of the power of art over impulse was not lost upon Forrest. Without condescending to imitate the manner, he imitated the means whereby such eminence had been attained, and has achieved a glorious reward for his industry and self-government. I had only seen Macready three times before I met him in Philadelphia, and that was in London — once in Rob Roy, and twice in Pes- cara, a most extraordinary and original concep tion. The impression that comprehensible per formance made on me, time still permits me to enjoy in full recollection, though at the same period I only remember that Charles Young, Charles Kemble, and Miss O'Niel sustained the other principal characters. Macready could neither boast of face nor fig ure, but both were under such command, that they were everything which was required, in every character he undertook. By-the-by, it has been often remarked that we are very much alike — of course, I mean off the stage — but I beg most particularly to request those who are not acquainted with my personal appearance to un derstand that I am much the better-looking fellow of the two. CHAPTER X. " The best actors in the world, either for tragedy, com edy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pasto ral, tragical-historical, tragical-oomieali historical-pastoral, scene individable, or poem unlimited : Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor Plautus too light. For the law of writ, and the liberty, these are the only men." — Hamlet. Meanwhile the circus had become so unprof itable that the amateur stockholders were well inclined to sell put. I parted company with Warren, and Simpson and myself became the sole proprietors. The best of my dramatic company having "got half lost and scattered," I had to form a new one. Fortunately for me, John Hallam was most anxious to go to England for a wife he had chosen there. People often fall in love when they cannot afford to pay for it, but now he thought he might prudently indulge in this expensive luxury ; and I gave him an agency, at the same time, to engage any talented people he might meet with likely to suit me. He dis charged this trust as he did everything, most faithfully; but, of course, he secured the ser vices of Mrs. Hallam and her sister, Miss Ra chel Stannard, and her sister Mrs. Mitchell, and her husband Mr. Mitchell ; the rest of the fam ily wouldn't come, I suppose. The only females he introduced to an American audience, with the exception of his new relations, were Mrs. Lane, and her talented little daughter, now the beautiful and accomplished Mrs. Hunt, of the Park Theatre. Warren engaged Francis Courtney Wemyss to supply my place ; a very worthy fellow, proud, and justly so, of being the descendant of several earls in Scotland, and some lords in England; he has been buffeting with the spotted fortunes of management' ever since, till very lately, and now I see he advertises to sell, in a cellar in Philadelphia, perfumery, tetter ointment, and cheap publications. I hope he will recommend this book to his customers. As soon as Hallam's mission was known, Warren despatched Wemyss on a similar er rand ; but Hallam was limited to give only three PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 81 guineas per week, as the highest salary. We myss had to pay much more, of course, as he •selected persons who, by talent or circumstances, had achieved some kind of reputation in Eng land. Now my lot had never been heard of out of their own little circle, with the exception of my principal man, Grierson, and Hallam prided •himself on having secured the original Duke of Wellington in the "Battle of Waterloo " at Ast- iey's. I was in successful operation at Philadel phia when Simpson sent me an account of their arrival in the ship Britannia, my old friend, C. H. Marshall, commander. They could not com plain of their mode of conveyance ; they had the same skilful captain who landed me here safe and sound, and a magnificent vessel. Charles Irish, of yellow-fever memory, then kept a sec ondary kind of hotel, where Hallam was in structed to put up and remain a day or two, that the party might recover the fatigues of the voy age and see the lions of New- York. The bill of expenses rendered to me on this occasion re minded me of Falstaff 's : " Item. Sack, two gallons 5s. 8d. Item. Anchovies and sack after supper, 3s. 6d. Item. Bread, a halfpenny." This was supposed to happen during the reign of Henry IV. The following did happen during the reign of Simpson and Cowell : " Mr. John Hallam To Charles Irish. One day's board and lodging for self and party $18 50 Refreshments at bar 56 00 ! ! $74 50." Hallam was a jolly dog himself, and, of course, he took care that the representatives of the Brit ish drama, at that day, should do the thing hand- comely by their new associates. They were very foreign, both in appearance and manner — Eng lish country actors are very odd-looking people — but, on the whole, I was well pleased with hon est John Hallam's selection. Of course I made ihe most of them, and they all had opening jiarts. Grierson chose Rolla for his debut, and the same play served to introduce Mrs. Mitchell as Cora. She had a very pretty face and a broad Lincolnshire dialect ; and her person strongly reminding me of the great Mrs. Davenport, I doubled her salary, on condition that she would undertake the old women, in which she was highly successful. Pretty women always con trive to get well paid, even to make themselves ugly. Grierson was very tall and very uncouth in his deportment, and so near-sighted that it amounted to blindness; and in the scene where he has to seize the child, not having the little creature thrust into his arms, the necessity for which he had pointed out in the morning, he fumbled about for an instant, and then caught Charley Lee instead by the nape of his neck, and would have whirled him off if not rescued by the soldiers. The public were well inclined to believe all I did was right at that time, but I had put their temper to a serious trial that night. Bat, fortunately, a most vehement appeal in (good plain English, by the fjeautiful little boy who played Cora's child, to have some domestic matters attended to immediately, and being dis regarded, the evidence that it should have been, trickling down the stage, put the audience in such high good-humour, that the play escaped disapprobation. The house was crowded to the U ceiling. I stood for a few minutes behind poor old Warren. " If this is Cowell's great gun," said he, " why he's a pop-gun." But it was not : W. H. Smith became an im mense favourite. He was one of those pink- lo ,king men, with yellow hair, that the ladies always admire, and in his day was considered the best fop and light comedian on the continent. I doubled his salary directly. John Sefton was a sort of a failure ; though. very queer and excellent in little bits, he did not hit the audience till he got to Baltimore; and there, his skilful personation of the Marquis, in the "Cabinet," made his two pounds ten into twenty dollars. Some years since he played Jemmy Twitcher, in the " Golden Farmer," at New- York, in a little theatre called the Franklin. The audience were peculiarly capable of appre ciating his talent, and his fame is hinged entirely on that one part ; his appearance is the thing it self—equal to Sir Joshua Reynolds's picture of " Mercury as a Pickpocket." The equestrian business ceasing to be so at tractive, I determined to get rid of that portion of our expenses — sent the company to Wilming ton, Delaware, where a temporary building was prepared, and had the ring fitted up as a spacious pit, and in September, 1827, opened the Phila delphia Theatre, Walnut-street. Wemyss returned from England with his par ty. But too much was expected from them ; and in this interim my company had got licked into shape, and had grown into favour with the audience. They underlined Venice Preserved and the Young Widow, to introduce some of their new people — Belvidera, Miss Emery; Jaffier, Mr. Southwell ; and Pierre, Mr. S. Chapman ; their first appearance in America — there were not more than two hundred persons in the house. I had the same pieces performed on the same evening, Mr. and Mrs. Hamblin in the princi- Eal characters, and had upward of fourteen undred ! The full tide of public opinion was in our favour. We could play three light pieces for a week in succession, to six and seven hun dred dollars a night; when the Chestnut -street would prepare an expensive performance, or, rather, display an expensive company to thirty persons. Among other stars, I 'engaged Cooper, who took his leave of an American audience, with whom he had been so many years the idol, prior to his departure for Europe ; and he played his round of characters to crowded houses. He had prepared an excellent farewell speech ; but it be ing his own composition, he had not thought it necessary to fasten it so securely on his memory, as no doubt he would have done had it been the production of another's pen. The veteran, too, evinced much feeling at having to say good- by, perhaps forever, to a people among whom he had made so long and happy a sojourn; and, in his embarrassment, forgot the words. He is a very incompetent extemporaneous speaker ; and thinking it a pity some very pretty thoughts he had put on paper should be wasted, explained the dilemma he was placed in, and begged per mission to read what he had written ; but, un fortunately, the manuscript was in his own hand; and believing it, " As our statists do, a baseness to write fair," it was almost illegible, and occupying both sides of a sheet of foolscap, which became transparent THIRTY YEARS when held behind the foot-lights, both pages were mixed up together, so that it became impossible to smoothly deliver the sense, and he was obliged at last to give up the task, said a few words warm from the heart, and some honest tears were shed on all sides. Baltimore had for years been visited by War ren and Wood, with the same jog-trot company and the same old pieces, till they had actually taught the audience to stay away, and it had then the reputation of being the worst theatrical town in the Union. I had always had enormous success there with my circus company; and„en- couraged to the undertaking by a host of friends, I leased the theatre from the committee, all of them my personal well-wishers. I had the house thoroughly repaired and decorated, the lobbies carpeted, and stoves erected there and under the stage. The gallery, which had become an un profitable nuisance, I dispensed with entirely, and made that entrance serve for the third tier, effectually separating the visiters to that section from the decorous part of the house. There was a corporation tax of ten dollars on every night's performance, which Warren and Wood had for years been trying to get removed ; but the influ ence of my powerful friends got it instantly re duced one half! Strict police regulations were adopted, and carried most rigorously into effect; and in November, 1827, we commenced the sea son. Hamblin was my first star, to whom I paid one hundred dollars per night, and played to half the amount : a very dingy beginning, but I had " confidence, which is more than hope," of a good season yet. I was sitting one night at the back of one of the boxes: the play was the Revenge ; there are but seven characters in the tragedy, and necessa rily they are all very long. Smith was Alonzo, and Grierson, Carlos. In the same box with me was a tall, Kentucky-looking man, alone — the house was literally empty — and during a very tedious scene of theirs, he leaned back, and said to me, in a loud tone, " I say, stranger, has that long-legged fellow got much more to say in this business 1" I answered in the affirmative. " Then," said he, striding over the seats, " they are welcome to my dollar,, for I can't stand list ening to his preaching any longer ;" and away he went. My company could boast of little tragic talent, but in comedy we worked together very happily. Wells was my ballet-master, and that depart ment, under his experienced direction, was very effective. The business continued most wretch ed for two or three weeks ; but, fortunately, we were able to make all our payments reg ularly, and I professed to be perfectly s, tisfied with the certainty of having a fine season ulti mately. Messrs. Dobbin, Murphy, and Bose, the proprietors of the American, had always been our printers ; but General Robinson then kept a much-frequented, fashionable circula ting library, and I gave him the printing, that it might be to his interest, as well as inclination, to talk in our favour, which he did most success fully and kindly. My worthy host, too, David Barnum — the emperor of all hotel-keepers — was most enthusiastic in his efforts to promote my interests. It is delightful to think that, after so many years of checkered fortune passed, that this very night, here in Baltimore, in July, 1843, we should take our glass of " old rye" together, in the same favourite corner; laugh old matters- over, and refine upon the refinements of the gout, which we have both so honestly earned. Simpson sent me all the stars, in increasing attraction; and the season of 1827-8 is spoken of up to this day as the most brilliant ever known in Baltimore. Forrest, Hackett, Eaines, Horn, Pearman, Hamblin, Mrs. Austin, Mrs. Knight, Miss Kelly, and the captivating Clara Fisher — worth the whole of them at that day — appealed in rapid succession. S/oe played with mcfoi six weeks, to a succession of overflowing houses. No thing could exceed the enthusiasm with which this most amiable creature was received every where. " Clara Fisher" was the name given to everything it could possibly be applied to : ships,, steamboats, racehorses, mint-juleps, and negro babies. Charles Fisher established a newspaper in New- York, called the " Spirit ofthe Times," and, to secure popularity to it and himself, ad vertised it as " edited by C. J. B. Fisher, brother to t/ie celebrated Clara Fisher." A hack propri etor started an omnibus, and, of course, called it the " Clara Fisher;" and another had another,, called "the celebrated Clara Fisher;" and another yfet, determined not to be outdone, named his- " Brother to the celebrated Clara Fisher!" But anything so overdone was not likely to last, in- her evanescent profession. She married Maeder, a very pleasing composer and talented musician;. and though no diminution could be discovered,. by the calm observer, in her intrinsic merit, the- charm was broken, and she only now, as Clara- Fisher, in remembrance lives. Washington City could then only boast of a. very small theatre, in a very out-of-the-way sit uation, and used by Warren and Wood as a sort. of summer retreat for their company; where the- disciples of Isaac Walton, with old Jefferson at. their head, might indulge their fishing propensi ties, without having them interfered with by- either rehearsals or study. Now Miss Fisher had so turned the heads of the public in Baltimore, that I thought it a safe- experiment to try if she couldn't turn the heads of the government, then in session, and I hired? the theatre for an optional number of nights. "There is nothing like getting up an excite ment," Pelby used to say. I immediately set a. swarm of carpenters at work to bang out the- backs ofthe boxes and extend the seats into the lobbies, which, in all the theatres built since the awful loss of life by the Richmond fire, were ridiculously large in proportion to the space al lotted to the audience. As the house had seldom or ever been full, small as it was, my preparing it to hold twice the number which had ever tried to get in appeared somewhat extraordinary.. Mashing down thin partitions, in an open space, plastered into a cei'Sr.g, is a most conspicuously- dusty and noisy operation, and attracted, as I wished, numerous inquiries — the doors being all- thrown open — and my people were instructed simply to say, that "ihe house wasn't half large enough to accommodate the crowds which would throng to see Clara Fisher." The plan succeeded to a nicety. Never bad there been such a scram ble for places before in the capital — I mean in the theatre. jU the end of two days every seat was secured for the whole of her engagement. On the afiernoon ofthe first performance 1 got a note from John Gluincy Adams, then the Pres ident, requiring a certain box for that evening, directed to " Mr. Manager of the Theatre" and l sent a reply, regretting that he couldn't have it PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 83 till five nights afterward, directed to " Mr. Man ager ofthe United States." I was afterward told that the kind old man was highly amused by the response. CHAPTER XI. " Quince. Have you sent to Bottom's house 7 Is he come home yet? " Starveling. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt he is transported. " Flute. If he conies not, then the play is marT'd ; it goes not forward, doth it 1 " Quince. It is not possible. You have not a man in all Athens able to discharge Pyramus but he." Midsummer Night's Dream. In consequence of the extraordinary success which had attended the temporary alteration of the Walnut-street Circus, the proprietors were easily persuaded to convert it into a permanent theatre. A lease on my own terms was grant ed for ten years. To my experience was left the general detail ofthe improvements, and the cel ebrated John Haviland was chosen as the archi tect, and the present Walnut-street Theatre was erected with inside the walls ofthe old building. Scarcely had the note of preparation been sound ed, when an entirely new theatre was proposed to be built in Arch-street by some property-holders in that neighbourhood. Building theatres was supposed to be an excellent investment of capital at that time, and a good excuse for elderly, se date, duaker-bred gentlemen to take a peep at a play, or a look at what was going on behind the scenes in the character of a stockholder. It had already been proved past a doubt to my mind and poor Warren's pocket, that Philadel phia would not or could not support more than one establishment of the sort ; and the one the public would most probably select, in despite of my popularity, would most likely be the new one, and I began to tremble for the consequences. While I was wavering as to the course I should pursue, through the instrumentality of my friend Hamblin I received an offer from the proprietors of the Tremont Theatre at Boston to undertake its direction for forty weeks, for the sum of four thousand five hundred dollars, which, after duly weighing all the consequences, prudence, and the persuasion of my friends, induced me to ac cept. And that I did I have most heartily regret ted ever since. It was then late in June, and I instantly set off for Boston. Nearly all the proprietors there were my personal friends, and they readily agreed to take off my hands such engagements as I had entered into — among them Miss Stan dard, Hallam, and Smith — and all other stipula tions which I suggested were readily agreed to ; and with two thousand dollars in cash to bind the bargain, I returned to Philadelphia. As I passed through Providence, on my way to Boston, I had promised Arthur Keene that I would give him notice ofthe exact day I would return, that he might advertise me to appear for his benefit. He was a sweet, untaught singer, in the style of Paddy Webb, an Irishman by birth, and over flowing with fun and national modesty. He made his first appearance in America at the Park, in Henry Bertram. A duet, his portion of which is sung behind the scenes, with the exception of the last line, was to introduce him to the audi ence. The air is very pretty, and the words, as I have ever heard them, very innocent, at any rate: " List, lovo, 'tis ay — ay — I, Rum turn ti di-i-ay ; Where art thou, rum turn ?" Then he should rush on, and, embracing Miss Mannering, most energetically sing, " I'm here, I'm here !" but, unfortunately, forgetting, in the anxiety of the moment; that there was a threshold to the folding doors of the flat, his toe caught the impediment, and with the tune in his throat, he came sprawl ing down the stage on his face, close to the foot lights ; in an instant he was on his feet, and, at the very top of his fat-setto, shouted, " I'm here, I'm here !" and he probably got a more joyous reception; than he would have done under the usual cir cumstances. I left Boston in the mail-stage, after a jolly supper, at one in the morning, and arrived at Providence, Rhode Island, in time for rehearsal, the same day. The weather was excruciatingly hot, as hot weather always is in high latitudes- when it is hot, and after dinner I determined to take my lost share of sleep. I took a file of papers, that most efficacious lullaby, from the reading-room, and finding a mattress thrown in the corner of a balcony, where all the air Provi dence could bestow appeared to flutter, I ar ranged a siesta. When I awoke it was dusk,. and after repairing my toilet, I set off for the theatre, all my companions being there, though I only had to play Crack, in the last piece. As I passed through the bar 1 inquired of a servant sweeping it out, "What is the time?" " About four, sir," said he. " About four !" said I : " about eight, more likely," and on I walked. The shops were all closed, and everything. appeared particularly quiet; but the steady- habits of Providence I was prepared for by long. report, and, therefore, its appearance was not extraordinary. The carriers hanging the even ing papers on the knobs of the doors, or in sinuating them underneath, were the only hu man beings I met with on my way to the thea tre, which, to my astonishment, I found closed and quiet. A thought flashed across my mind- Could it be possible'! I made an inquiry of a milkman, and found, to my amazement, that it. was not to-night, but to-morrow morning. To return to the hotel and make an explana tion I knew full well would be at the expense of remaining to perform that night; so I sneak ed on board the Connecticut steamboat, which- was to take me to New- York, leaving my bag gage behind. My old friend Captain Bunker met me with astonishment; he had been at the- play, and fully described the consternation I had» occasioned. The theatre had been crowded,, and after every room in the Franklin Hotel' had! been searched, and every conceivable place iff the city, it had been unanimously agreed that, in walking to the theatre after dark, that I had walked off one of the docks, and already a re ward had been offered for the recovery of my body. But that my business was too urgent for me to spare the time, I would have delivered myself up, for the joke's sake, and claimed the ten dol lars; but as it was, I got Bunker to keep my secret, and laid perdue in the ladies' cabin till the boat was off, and took the news of my sup posed untimely end, to personally contradict it at New- York and Philadelphia. So popular was I at that time with the pro- 84 THIRTY YEARS prietors of the Walnut-street, that I had as much trouble in getting rid of the lease as most persons would have had in getting one granted. It was opened in the fall with an excellent but most extravagant company, under the direction of William Rufus Blake and Inslee, the latter having made a supposed fortune as keeper of , the almshouse, and the former only wanting one to be fully considered one of the best fellows in the world. Nearly the whole company had been selected for the Tremont prior to my engagement, and Booth had been appointed stage-manager for a month. And it was whimsical enough, in ig norance of my having the whole control, his of fering me a situation for the season, of fifty dol lars a week. I thanked him, and did not tell him then why I declined the offer. The arrangements at the Tremont Theatre were both costly and injudicious ; and therefore, though the season was a brilliant one, it was most unprofitable. Booth received one hundred dollars for each night's performance ; and Ham blin, for twenty or twenty-four, the same terms. On one occasion, the "direction" wished in some other way to occupy one of his nights; and they not only paid him the one hundred dol lars for his supposed playing, but gave him an other hundred for not playing ; or, in other words, they gave him two hundred dollars to be kind enough not to perform at all for one night only. He was on a visit to my house during his so journ at Boston ; and while amusing himself with my children, during a leisure morning, made the discovery that my dear boy Samuel was perfect, both in the words and music of Orack, in the Turnpike Gate, and could give an excellent imitation of his father in that char acter. After dinner we had a full rehearsal. The pianoforte was put in requisition, and Hamblin and myself played the off-parts by turns. I confess I thought he was extremely «lever — what father would not 1 Hamblin was in ecstasies of admiration, and Sam's- talent fur nished food for a chat in my room at the theatre that evening; and Dana, the principal of the •committee of management, pertinently said, "Now, Cowell, if you were to have the profits of your benefit," which was then advertised, "you would let your son play for it." This legitimate Yankee suspicion, of course, I had no better means of removing than by let- ing Sam perform. He was delighted at the novelty, and no farther instructed than by a usual rehearsal; he made his first appearance three nights afterward. Whatever he may be now, he was a very little boy, even for his'age, in 1829; and he certainly eclipsed anything in the way of juvenile prodigies which I had ever seen — and so an overflowing house said too. But from long experience of the consequences in after life of forcing precocious talent, I never urged him to learn a line. For some two or three years following he played and sung such parts and comic songs as he thought proper, for his own amusement and my emolument; but in the course of that time he never studied more than six characters— Crack, Chip, Matty Mar vellous, Bombastes — I forget the other— and one of the Dromios; and his impersonation of me was me, at the small end of a telescope. He chose, when it was time to choose, the stage for his profession, and is now an admitted favourite iu the Edinburgh Theatre : no small boast at his age, for there the drama is considered one of the mental endowments of that refined and critical portion of Great Britain. And his uncle, Will iam Murray, the manager, who, when a mere boy, was intrusted by his sister's husband, Hen ry Siddons, with the direction of the National Theatre, has been for years universally admitted as the most finished disciplinarian now remain ing to uphold the good old school. I was most heartily rejoiced when this en gagement of mine terminated. The gentlemen composing the committee of arrangements for the proprietors, all with separate tastes and in terests — some, but few, influenced by the prob able loss and profit to themselves ; others by the he or she actor they wished to patronise ; some for the sake of seeing a play acted as they would like to see it — would beg me to give them " some good casting." One of these actually proposed, that to support James Wallack, who was to do Macbeth, that Hamblin should play Banquo- all well enough — and Booth Macduff! to Wal lack!! "No!" said Booth, "I'll not play Macduff to Wallack, but I'll tell you what I will do— I'll play either Fleance or Seyton !" Hackett took the Chatham Theatre the fol lowing spring, and I was engaged as his princi pal comedian. For so long a time having been encumbered with the toils of management, for myself or others, a plain, well-paid stock en gagement was a delicious change. But it did not last long ; for, after a month or so, the busi ness not continuing very profitable, some reduc tion of wages, or some mercantile arrangement of Hackett's, which I will not explain, being proposed, I backed out. My experience taught me, that when a manager asks you to take a little less one week, he will expect you to take nothing the next, and be perfectly satisfied. So I went home to Philadelphia. There I found my own-made theatre, the Walnut-street, under the management of Messrs. Edmunds, S. Chapman, and Green, on a commonwealth principle. Ed munds had been a clerk of mine, recommended to me by Cooper as a starving countryman of ours, with a large family, great honesty, and a good handwriting. Out of several proposals which he made me, which he had learned in my school, I accepted a sort of stock engagement for two weeks, to receive no salary, but the whole'receipts of my last night, in the shape of a benefit, as payment ; by which I cleared twelve hundred dollars. John Boyd, of Baltimore, the Christophei North of South-street, and the laughter-loving and mirth-provoking Wildy, who cannot possi bly have a higher caste in this world's estima tion than by being acknowledged as the grand father of the benevolent order of Odd Fellow ship in the United States, had built an amphi theatre on some property that they and others owned on Front-street. Wildy and Boyd had both made me an offer of the establishment, which I foolishly declined accepting, and Blanch- ard became the lessee, and cleared, the first sea son, at least fifteen thousand dollars. I was en gaged there for five consecutive nights — the sixth to be my benefit— on my favourite terms, receiv ing the whole receipts. I merely played six farce parts, and got nine hundred dollars by the job. This establishment was burned down while occupied by Cooke's company; and the destruc tion of property and unoffending animal life on that occasion is too dreadful to speak of, It is PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 85 tow rebuilt by the same spirited and liberal pro prietors ; and, with its complete and substantial appointments, either for a theatre or a circus is by far the most perfect building for such pur poses now in the United States. A fat-faced gentleman, buttoned up to the chin, with a queer hat and a lisp, called upon me at Barnum's, and introduced himself as Mr. Flynn, manager of the theatre at Annapolis, the capital of Maryland, the authority of Boz to the contrary notwithstanding, who bestows that hon our upon Baltimore. He offered me half the re ceipts of his theatre there per night, for three nights, explaining that it would hold one hun dred dollars. I accepted the proposal on hav ing good security for the payment, which, in a very business-like manner, he immediately gave. I was to commence the engagement on the Monday following; and at dark on Saturday night I arrived at that very pretty little oldfash- ioned city. I must stop one instant here to say that the graveyard, with a few innocent sheep nibbling the short grass, and giving intensity to the repose of the romantic spot, would almost tempt anybody to be buried " quick" there. There is one grave where an Irish blacksmith is de-composed, with the iron anvil on which he worked for years for a tombstone: and a sim ple tablet " To the memory of a good woman;" only think of having " dust to dust" shovelled on you just there ! The hotel I found entirely deserted, with the exception of a negro, who was asleep outside the latticed portion of the bar-room. I had not been there an instant when I heard the chorus of the old Lincolnshire ditty I had introduced to this country : " Oh ! 'tis my delight of a shiny night, In the season of the year. Now, then !" and in walked Booth — for 'twas he, followed by a clever young printer, by the name of Augus tus Richardson, who afterward married Sam Chapman's widow, and a gentleman called Franciscus, whom I saw the other day at New- Orleans, and who didn't sow his wild oats with such good tasta. " Why, hallo !" said Booth, " what are you doing here, Cowell 1" I, like a true Englishman, answered by asking the same question. " Why," said Booth, " I am engaged for three nights and a benefit by Flynn ; I open here on Monday." " So do I," said I, " and have the same nights." " I am to get half the receipts," said he. " So am I," said I. " But I have it all signed and sealed, and Gwynn is security for the payment," said he. " Exactly the same case with me," said I. The fact is, Flynn had engaged us both on precisely the same terms, and as he explained to me, not having the slightest reliance on Booth's promise to be there, he had engaged me to save him from the anger of the audience if Booth should disappoint them ; and was good-humour- edly prepared to give us all between us. And it -was with some difficulty — for, where money is concerned, Booth has sometimes a queer method in his madness — that he was induced to agree to take one third a piece all round. But this chapter is getting to be something too much of this, and I have a journey before me to " The Far West." CHAPTER XII. " In no country, and in no stage of society, has the drama ever existed (to my knowledge) in a ruder state than tha* in whieh this company prosented it."— The Doctor. I am not surprised that savages, when left to their own discretion to choose a God, should so> frequently select the sun as the object of their adoration ; for, in his absence, even the Allegha ny Mountains may be crossed, and Nature re ceive no homage for her wonders. It was one o'clock in the morning, at the lat ter end of November, that my dear boy Sam and myself left Baltimore in a stage-coach and a snow-storm; and in three days and two nights, through mud and mire, we arrived, as if by mir acle, at Wheeling, Virginia, where we fortu nately found a little steamboat, called the Poto mac, ready to start for Cincinnati. The Ohio- River is notorious for being twelve hundred miles long, but as nothing is said about its width, to my imagination it proved sadly out of proportion; it happened to be a low stage of water, which then I knew nothing about; and I was disappoint ed in not finding it wider than the Delaware, and not half so picturesque. The French christen ed it La Belle Riviere, but a Frenchman's opin ion should never be taken where the beauties of Nature are concerned, unless they are fit to be cooked. John Randolph went to the other ex treme, but was nearer the truth, when he descri bed it as a paltry, nonsensical stream, dried up one half of the year, and frozen up the other. Winter had just taken Autumn in his rude em brace, and the country on either side looked wild and dreary, though divested of romance. " There stood the faded trees in grief, As various as their clouded leaf; With all the hues of sunset skies Were stamp'd the maple's mourning dies , In meeker sorrow in the vale, The gentle ash was drooping pale ; Brown-sear'd, the walnut rear'd its head, The oak display'd a lifeless red, And grouping bass and white-wood hoar Sadly their yellow honours bore." Habitations were "few and far between," and then only a miserable log hut in the midst of " a clearing" of, perhaps, a dozen acres ; the trunks of the fine old trees still standing, though burned! to the core ; and this evidence of their violent death adding artificial desolation to the natural ly dreary landscape. At a wood-pile yon would sometimes see a group of dirty, " loose; unatti- red" women and children, .... " With a sad, leaden, downward cast," destroying at a glance all your visions of primi tive simplicity or rural felicity. These " early settlers," by a strange chain of thought, put me in mind of Paradise -Lost and "Adam's first green breeches ;" and I could not help but agree with Butler, that " The whole world, without art and dress, Would be but one great wilderness, And mankind but a savage herd, For all that Nature has conferr'd ; She does but rough-hew and design, Leaves art to polish and refine." Cincinnati in 1829 was a very different place from what it is now, but even then it wore a most imposing appearance : thanks to the clear headed, adventurous Yankees, who, axe in hand, cut through the pathless forests, undismayed by toil and defying danger, until they found a spot, rowh-heum and designed by Nature as the site for future ages to enthrone the pride of the Ohio Valley, the " Ctueen City of the West." We pot 86 THIRTY YEARS sip at the hotel near the landing, kept by Captain ¦Cromwell, and in his little way quite as despotic as his namesake, the poor apology for a king; for after dinner — an operation which was per formed by his boarders in three minutes at far thest — myself and two acquaintances I had form ed on the road drew towards the fire, and com menced smoking our cigars. " You can't smoke here," said Captain Crom well. And we instantly pleaded ignorance of his rules, though they might be thought a little fastidious after our scramble for dinner, and .threw our cigars in the fire. "And you can't sit here," said Captain Crom well. " If you want to sit, you must sit in the bar; and if you want to smoke, you can smoke in the bar." Slapping his hand on the table, after the man ner of his ancestor dismissing the Long Parlia ment ; and into the bar we went, where a play bill on the wall announced that the " School for Scandal" was to be performed that evening for " the benefit of Mr. Anderson." I was making •some inquiries ofthe barkeeper about the thea tre, when a man about my own age and size, very shabby, very dirty, and very deaf, introdu ced himself as Alexander Drake, the manager, ourled his right hand round his ear, and, in a courteous whisper, invited me to "take some thing." He was a kind, familiar, light-hearted ¦creature, told me, with apparent glee, that he was over head and ears in debt to the company and everybody else ; that that night he had giv en the use of the theatre, and the performers had tendered their services, to an old actor who ex pected a " meeting of his creditors;" but that he had been obliged to close the theatre for the sim ple reason that it wasn't fashionable ! What an abominable affliction have these ephemeral four syllables proved to the young and otherwise un fettered country of which I am now writing ! Could the wrinkled outlaws of crippled monar chies find no other chain to goad the neck and bow the head of independence, " Wandering mid woods and forests wild," than the introduction of fashionable atrocities to make the thoughtless laugh, the thinking grieve 1 The manager gave me an invitation to wit ness the performance ; and after a pleasant chat — for he was a delightful companion — and " taking something" till the time for commencing, excu sed uimself for being obliged to leave, in conse quence of having to "study Charles Surface, who went on in tbe third act." If he had never played the part before, he had an extraordinary " swallow ;" for he was perfect, and performed it much belter than I have often seen it done by those who consider such characters their line of business ; and he was a low comedian and an ex cellent one, which may probably account for the unfitness of his dress : he wore white trousers of that peculiar cut you sometimes see frisk round the stage in what is called a sailor's hornpipe, and, being very short, exposed a pair of boots on which Day and Martin had never deigned to shine ; no gloves, a round hat, and the same blue coat and brass buttons I had already been intro duced to, buttoned up to the top. His wife was the Lady Teazle ; a very fine looking woman, and plenty of her. I was not then accustomed to the peculiar twang'm the pronunciation ofthe west end of the United States, which, in conse quence, sounded uncouth and unlady-Teazle-like to me ; for though Sir Peter particularly boasts that he has chosen a wife " bred altogether in the country," he didn't mean, I suppose, the West ern country; but, at any rate, she got great ap plause; everybody seemed very much pleased with her, and she seemed very much pleased with herself. Mrs. Drake has been very suc cessful as a star since the time I speak of; she is one out of six or seven ladies who have by turns been called "the Mrs. Siddons of America;"- but what for, for the life of me I never could find out; but as the baptizers, in all probability. nev er saw the Mrs. Siddons, they should stand ex cused for taking her name in vain. Baron Hack- ett's sister-in-law, Mrs. Sharpe, was so christen ed; but that must have been an oversight; for she is an English lady, the daughter of Old Le Sugg, well known thirty years ago as an eccen tric itinerant, and said to have been the precept or of Matthews in the art and mystery of imita ting Punch and Judy. Raymond was the Joseph, a man nearly as big as " Big Scott," and would not now be men tioned here, if he had not drowned himself be cause some one said Parsons (another big one) was a better actor ! Foolish fellow, " How poor are they who have not patience !" if he had waited a little longer he would have had the Western country heavy business all to himself; for, when theatricals began to decline in that hemisphere, Parsons turned Methodist, and joined the church. But whether he was disappointed in the profits attending his new profession, or that the groans his performance elicited were not understood at first to mean approval, and he fancied he had made a failure, 1 know not, but the offer of a star engagement induced him to return Jo the stage. And had he played the hypocrite, and got it understood that he was still a follower of the church, though, from necessity, an actor, he might have proved an attraction ; but he was honest for once, and took the other extreme, selected Doctor Cant- well for one of his characters, and insulted com mon sense by his attempting to throw odium on the professors of religion ; and to the credit ot the supporters ofthe drama be it said, he play ed to empty benches. He is now, I understand, regularly engaged as a saint, and playing little business to Maffit. It must not be understood that I wish to con vey an idea that an actor cannot be a religious man, and even a capable and devout teacher of Christianity ; but then his previous life should be strongly marked (like poor Conway's) with the attributes of piety, kindness of heart, and charity to all men; and Parsons, I'm afraid, if weighed in such a scale, like many other parsons, would be " found wanting." At the end of the play, a tall, scrambling-look- ing man with a sepulchral falsetto voice, sung " Giles Scroggin's Ghost," and I recognised him at once as an old acquaintance. While I was manager ofthe circus I called in one evening at the Park during the performance of " Bombas- tes Furioso," and was greatly amused at the eccentricities of one of the supernumeraries, and the more so, as I could plainly see it annoyed Hilson and Barnes. Simpson was with me, and we had a hearty laugh at the expense of Ihe comedians, for they were all in the bill, and this man, without a name, was the only person the audience appeared to notice ; and the next day Simpson told me that Hilson, Barnes, and Pla cide had made a formal complaint against this PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. extemporaneous jester, and insisted on his not being again employed. His name, I found, was Rice, and not long after he " Turn'd about, and wheel'd about, And jump'd Jim Crow," to his own profit and the wonder and delight of all admirers of intellectual agility. The theatre was a small brick building, well designed but wretchedly dark and disgustingly dirty, and with the exception of the beneficiary and the per sons I have named, the performance was quite in keeping. I don't know if it was considered a Jashionable house. There were about a hun dred persons present, and I observed a majority •of the ladies wore a little strip of silver cord or lace round their heads, an innocent remnant of national finery, I presume, and very generally worn by the Swiss and German peasants, who -then constituted a large portion of the popula tion. Old Drake had been a strolling manager in the West of England, and some years before had brought to this country a large family of children, all educated to sing, dance, fight com bats, paint scenes, play the fiddle, and everything else ; and by wandering through the then wilder ness, and giving entertainments at the numer ous small towns which were daily ejecting the forest, he had made money by their combined •exertions in that primitive dramatic way. But this portion of the Union had in a very few years outgrown even his boys and girls, and the march of improvement had marched rather be- jyond the point of his experience. A few farms within a mile or two of each •oth er had become, as if by magic, flourishing villages, then large towns and now magnifi cent cities, the stumps of the firmly-rooted fine old oaks still disputing inch by inch the paving of the well-built streets. A full-grown, ¦enlightened population, kept pouring in from the older States, accompanied by the million skilful artisans who had been starving midst the crowd of equal talent in their native coun tries, and whom Great Britain and the Conti nent of Europe could so gladly spare. New towns must have new theatres, some times even before they have new churches, and Frankfort, Lexington, Louisville, and Cincin nati had been so adorned for several years, and which now constituted the present circuit. Alexander Drake had been intrusted by his father with this branch of the concern, and had ..got in debt and got on the limits, and could not move out of the state till relieved by the insolv ent law; and Old Drake was at Frankfort, Kentucky, waiting for this company, to open the theatre there, and they could not move for want of funds. Poor Aleck so feelingly described his painful situation, that though there was very little prob ability that I should make money under the ex isting circumstances, with the remote hope of , giving him some assistance, I agreed to play a few nights, to share with him after one hundred and thirty dollars, a sum very unlikely to be ever received, but to have half the amount of two houses for the services of myself and son, which, in all probability, would cover my ex penses, and give me time to form a better judg ment of this new country. But, strange to say, our business averaged over two hundred dollars, and both the benefits were crowded to overflow ing. 87 There is no class of persons in the world who so ostentatiously exhibit their estate as the play ers. I speak of the majority. See them in pros perity with " Rings, and things, and fine array :" their coat is always made in the extreme of the most ridiculous fashion then in vogue, and, that it may be useful on the stage, generally of a lighter blue, or green, or brown, than is usually worn; pantaloons of some peculiar colour — blot ting-paper is a favourite tint— and a hat, either very little; very big, or very something, very un like what would be seen on any head but an ac tor's ; but when either garment is unseamed and seated, and the brim of the hat bowed off every rent speaks with a " dumb mouth" of abject beg gary, when a homely garment, though thread bare, if it did not conceal the poverty, would still shield the wearer from ridicule and contempt, The ladies, bless them, always dress beautifully when they can; but 'tis melancholy to meet them when they cannot, with lace veils and flannel petticoats, artificial flowers and feathers, with worsted stockings and muddy shoes. I shall neither mention names nor particularly describe the party I saw the first morning I went to re-^ hearsal huddled round the fire, in what was call ed the green-room. In one corner, on the floor, was a pallet-bed and some stage properties, evi dently used to make shift to cook with, such as tin cups and dishes, a brass breastplate, and an iron helmet half full of boiled potatoes, which, I was informed, was the domestic paraphernalia of the housekeeper and ladies'-dresser. She was a sort of half Indian, half Meg-Merrilies-looking creature, very busily employed in roasting cof fee on a sheet of thunder, and stirring it round with one of Macbeth's daggers, for "on the blade and dudgeon, gouts" of rose-pink still re mained. I soon got acquainted with the ladies and gentlemen; Rice I found a very unassuming, modest young man, little dreaming then that he was destined to astonish the Duchess of St. Al- ban's, or anybody else ; he had a queer hat, very much pointed down before and behind, and very much cocked on one side. I perched myself on a throne-chair, by the side of Mrs. Drake, who was seated next the fire, on a bass drum. I found her a most joyous, affable creature, full of conundrums and good nature ; she made some capital jokes about her peculiar position ; mar tial music — sounds by distance made more sweet ; and an excellent rhyme to drum, which I am very sorry I have forgotten. When a manager ceases to pay, he soon ceas es to have any authority ; the rehearsals, thereT fore, did not deserve the name ; the distribution. of the characters the performers settled among themselves, and said as much of them as suited their convenience ; but they were all very civil, and apparently anxious to attend to my interests, and the audience was esily pleased. Sam made a prodigious hit ; from ten to twenty dollars, and sometimes much more, would be thrown on the stage during his comic singing : a tribute of adT miration nol at all uncommon in those days in the South and West. At Louisville, one night, , seven half-eagles were sprinkled amid the show er of silver which always accompanied his Af rican Melodies. Loose change is not so plenti ful in these days. 88 THIRTY YEARS CHAPTER XIII. " The aspiring youth that fired the Ephesian dome Outlives in fame the pious fool that raised it." Richard the Third. The profits arising from our engagement had been distributed among the performers, and they had set off for Kentucky ; and Drake had had an excellent benefit, for which we had played gratuitously. It was now suggested by some of the first peo ple, that if Mrs. Drake could obtain our services, and give an entertainment in any place but the theatre, she might be certain that all ihefashion- ubles, who wished particularly to see my son, would attend, and so give their aid towards re lieving the manager of part of the encumbrances their want of patronage had occasioned. I con sented to sing a song, and Sam had no objection to singing a dozen, and a Grand Olio was con cocted. Mr. and Mrs. Drake were to act Sir Peter and Lady Teazle's, and Sir Adam and Lady Constant's detached scenes ; Aleck to sing Kitty Clover, Gregory Redtail, Love and Sau sages, and half a hundred more fashionable com ic songs ; and Mrs. Drake to deliver " O'Con- ner's Child," the " Scolding Wife," and half a hundred more fashionable recitations. I was to sing " Chit Chat for the Ladies," in the first part of the entertainment, and Sam to give his "Ne gro Melodies" with a white face, in the second ; and a violin and violoncello were to constitute the orchestra. Tosso was the leader, a gifted musician, who played familiar airs divinely ; but, being blind, his accompaniments to strange melodies had to run after the voice in a pretty frolicking manner, more for his own amusement than any assistance he gave to the singer. Now this hotch-potch was supposed to be more attractive for a fashionable audience than the same actors would be in a wholesome play and farce, with the assistance ofthe company, and " the advantages of scenery and dress. Pshaw ! After due preparation, a night was chosen by Mr. Drake's principal patroness, when it was positively ascertained there would not be a tea- party of any consequence in the whole city, and the place of exhibition Mrs. Trollope's Bazar. This is a very singular affair: built of brick it a by-street turning out of Broadway, so that, fortunately, its nonsensical appearance don't ac tually interfere with the good taste displayed in the simply elegant buildings just round the cor ner. For what the original inventor intended this structure,. Heaven only knows; in my time it has undergone a dozen alterations, at least, to endeavour to make it fit for something; but its first plan was so curiously contrived, that every effort Yankee ingenuity could suggest to make it useful has successively failed. It no doubt cost a vast sum of money to erect. These fan cy buildings, which highly-imaginative ladies sometimes conceive, however clearly described, are very incomprehensible to the artists in bricks and mortar taught only to work by rule, even though the instructions may be assisted with prints in perspective to copy " something like that little bit" of the exterior of the Harem, or " this little bit" of the Pavilion at Brighton. But Mrs. Trollope's zeal to improve the taste of this young common-sense population, whom she intended, and fully expected, would ultimately look up to her with awe and admiration, nerved her with patience to surmount all the tortures of pulling down and building up, till she at length succeed ed in getting a roof with a tin-basin-shapeA dome, and a large gilt crescent on the top, of the oddest-looking building that ever was invented- The interior, no doubt, was an after considera tion. Two half-circular stairways met at the top of six or seven steps, which led to an en trance wide enough for two persons to pass inj conveniently at the same time, into a large din gy-looking room : this was the Bazar. I an* speaking of it as I saw it for the first time. There was a sort of long counter on either side,. and some empty shelves here and there against the walls. On the left hand, near the door, an< elderly lady in spectacles was sitting behind a little lot of dry goods, knitting either suspenders- or garters ; and at the farther end of the room,! a very melancholy-looking man was employed in reading, behind his share ofthe counter, I sup pose. He put his book down as we advanced and stood up, as much as to say, " What do yow want to buy 1" I glanced at his stock in trade. There were a few pieces, or, rather, remnants of calico and Kentucky jean, the ends unrolled and- fastened to the ceiling, some ribands in the usu al pasteboard box, and the cover upside down; by the side of it, filled with papers of pins, and needles, and cotton balls; whether he had just started in business, or was about closing the con cern, it was impossible to guess, so I bought a paper of pins and asked the question. " I have only been here a week, sir," said he,. dolefully, " and, with the exception of the socks I sold that young gentleman this morning, you:. are the only one as 'as bought anything since 11 opened." Sam had been to market, in conse quence of the absence of the washerwoman, and had found out "this queer-looking place,"" as he justly called it. " Then you don't find it answer t" said I. " Oh dear, no, sir — very far from it," he re plied: "nothing answers that's rational in this- outlandish country, as Mrs. Trollope says ; I wish, with all my art, I'd never seen it." " You are an Englishman, are you not V said I. " Yes, sir, eaven be praised ; and you is too," he continued, with a very knowing look. " I re member you at the Adelphi ; I took the gallery- tickets there." " Pray, had I the pleasure of your acquaint ance in London 1" I inquired, respectfully. " Oh no, sir, but I knowed you was the same as I knowed there as soon as I seen the play bill. But I was very intimate with John Reeve,"" he continued, with much importance. " It was him as recommended me to Rodwell ; he was clerk in the same ouse as I was in afore he turn ed a hactor — Mr. , the ozheer in Cheap- side : I used to weave stockins in the front cel lar at the hairy winder." " I understand," said I : "a sort of living- sign." " Why," he replied, with a look as if he didn't approve of my interpretation, "it's rather con- finin', to be sure ; but one gets good wage*, and. with what I earned by keeping door at night, it's a plaguy sight better than setting all day in, - this rum concern, and getting nothing but four wickles." " And is that all you get for your servio- s "i* I asked. "Why, you see," said he; in a confidential under-tone of voice, u the old woman thinks his ere will be a great go one of these days ; but -ha carVt get the Yankees to believe in it, and t >*y PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 891 won t rent the Stands; so any of her own coun try as apply, she furnishes 'em with a few things, and gives 'em half the profits and a cold cut, and a cup o' tea, to try and get the place into notice. But I think it's all in my eye," he continued, with a cunning wink ; " she'll never be able to melerate the manners of the Mericans, as she calls it : d'ye sec them 'ere spitboxes V pointing to a row filled with clean sawdust, on the outside of the counter. " Well, she can't begin to persuade 'em to make use on 'em; they will squirt there backer on one side, which teazes the old woman half to death." It was in a room of similar dimensions to this that the aristocratic exhibition took place. At the extreme end there was a raised platform; this was permanent, and the apartment intended by the founder of the building as the forum, in which the mischievous outpourings of any wan dering fanatic, whose solemn yet impotent ef forts to overthrow the institutions and annihilate the creeds of the older country might here, on the fresh bosom of this newly-planted world, in graft the poison of their mildewed minds, dis guised in all the demoniacal decorations of our language, " And sweet religion make A rhapsody of words." A green baize curtain was fastened from the ceiling across the middle of the platform, to form the stage and behind the scenes, where we were huddled together, with two chairs between us, be fore the audience arrived ; there being only one door to get in or out at, this was our only re source, or to parade through the fashionables when time to commence. When they did come they came all together, Mr. and Mrs. Trollope, with their family, leading the way, and amount ing to about thirty in all, laughing and talking very happily, accompanied by Tosso and the bass, with some plaintive Irish melodies. Drake interrupted this only expression of hilarity du ring the time I was sitting perdue behind the baize by ringing a little bell, and a minute passed in shuffling of feet and legs of chairs — all was breath less silence. Another tingle-dingle, and Mrs. Drake appeared, her majestic form and white satin train, which Drake had spread out and pla ced on the floor at its full extent, as she gracefully glided through a slit in the baize, taking posses sion entirely of the stage. Three queen-like courtesies to the right, the left, and centre, which was entirely vacant, with the exception of the - doorkeeper, who stood a little in advance of his station cutting and shuffling the few tickets he had received in his hands, and with which he gave a wh-r-r-rup ! which formed the only re sponse to the courtesies. The fact is, it was not fashionable to take notice of anything; but a very loud sneeze, which a young lady favoured me with during the third verse of my song, caus ed a whispering titter ; and the one that usually follows, being interfered with by a friend or pocket-handkerchief, went the wrong way, and the very odd kind of noise it assumed caused a general laugh, during which I finished my song, and made my escape through the slit. The first part over, Mrs. Trollope invited me to the refreshment-room. Most of the gentlemen I had been acquainted with before, and many of the ladies I had had the pleasure of an introduc tion to, and among them the beautiful, blushing young creature, who made some innocent apolo gies for the cold in her head. Mrs. Trollope gave fifty reasons why at least fifty more of her friends, and the first people in the city, were not there; but in an after acquaintance with the character of the inhabitants, I found that her having anything do with it made it a wonder there were any there at all, her philosophical mode of going to heaven being objectionable to* a large portion of the American population. She appeared delighted at this new appliance of her property. " I always told Mr. Trollope." said she, with great glee, " that I should make a fortune by this building, after all. A series of entertain ments of this kind must become fashionable in time. My friend, Mrs. Drake, is exactly of my way of thinking: we must prevail on you and your dear little boy to remain with us for a week or two longer." " That will be impossible, madam," I replied. " And I have been too long accustomed to a reg ular theatre to be of any use in a performance of this description." " Oh ! I beg your pardon," said she, quickly ;: " the ladies are all delighted with your song — you must sing us another or two. And as to a regular theatre, just step this way, and I'll show you what I intend to do." And away the bustling little lady went, and I at her heels. " Now you see, Mr. Cowell, I'll have the dais enlarged, and made on a declivity ; and then I'll1 have beautiful scenes painted in oil colours, so that they can be washed every morning and kept clean. I have a wonderfully talented French painter, whom I brought with me, but the people here don't appreciate him, and this will help to bring him into notice. And then I'll have a hole cut here," describing a square on the floor with her toe ; " and then a geometrical staircase for the artistes to ascend perpendicularly," twirling round and round her finger, " instead of having- to walk through the audience part of the area.. Or," said she, after a pause, " I'll tell you what will be as well, and not so costly. I'll have- some canvass nailed along the ceiling, on this side, to form a passage to lead to the stage ; Mr. Hervien can paint it like damask, with a large gold border, and it would have a fine effect!" Fortunately, a farther description of contem plated alterations was interrupted by one of her little ladies, as she appropriately called her daughters, who came in a hurry to inform her that the fashionables had eaten up all the cakes, and she trotted off to supply the deficiency; and I, recollecting the " one or two more" songs I might be expected to sing, whispered to Sam to- follow me as soon as possible, and was sneaking quietly down stairs, when I was met by my friend Rogers. He then kept a dry-goods store, but formerly was of the firm of Rogers anil Page, of Philadelphia, who had been my tailors for years. " Why, hallo! Cowell," said he, "you are not going. The ladies have commissioned me to get you to sing them another song." " Oh ! certainly," said I ; " with great pleas ure. I shall be back in an instant." I knew it was useless to Refuse ; everybody knows that tailors will never take no for an an swer, even when they dun you for their bill ; so^. following the example of their customers, Hied. But fearing that his perseverance might induce him even to follow me to my hotel, I took shel ter in a tavern at the corner of Market-street and Broadway; had a chat with Jemmy Gibson, then the proprietor, and sipped gin-and- water till the 90 THIRTY YEARS 'lights were extinguished in Mrs. Trollope's tur ret, and the show and all danger oven Cincinnati bore the character of a very bad •theatrical town at that time; but even in the sketch I have given, I have shown, I think, good cause why nothing else could be expected. But the first season 1 was acting-manager for Cald well, though we had a temporary theatre, a more elegant and discerning audience could not be met with in the United States ; and we had real ly fashionable, and, what was better, crowded .houses every night. The next morning we started for Kentucky. CHAPTER XIV. " This is some- fellow 'Who, having been praised for bluntness, doth affect A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb Quite from his nature. He cannot natter, he !" King Lear. The regular theatre at Louisville, an excel lent brick building, belonging to old Drake, was closed ; but a cattle shed or stable had been ap propriated to thatpurpose, and fitted up as a tem porary stage. The yard adjoining, with the board fence heightened and covered with some ¦old canvass, supported by scaffold poles to form the roof, and rough seats on an ascent to the back, .and capable of holding about two hundred per sons, constituted tbe audience part of the estab- ¦lishment, the lower benches nearest the stage being dignified by the name of boxes, and the •upper, nearest the ceiling, the pit. Here I found a strolling company on a sharing scheme, at the Jiead of which was N. M. Ludlow. Nothing I .had ever seen in the way of theatricals could be likened to this deplorable party. At Cincinnati J thought it was as wretched a specimen as it well could be anywhere ; but there it was real ly a theatre, and the company composed of much '-unexperienced talent : Rice and Mrs. George Rowe, for instance, and Drake and his accom plished wife, were capable of holding the first rank in the drama in any theatre ; but here there was not one redeeming point. Who they all ¦were, or what has become of them, Heaven only knows ; I don't remember to have met with any -of them since, with the exception of the manager and his lady. Hamblin had just concluded an •engagement here ; and after as formal, a negoti ation as if it had been the Park Theatre, we en tered into an agreement for a few nights, I think to receive forty per cent, after one hundred dol lars for six or seven performances, and half of the whole receipts at each benefit. We played to crowded houses. The strict financial correctness, with the dili gence and skill displayed by Ludlow in con ducting this "poverty-struck" concern, is above all praise, and gained for him the confidence of Caldwell, who shortly after engaged him as his agent to manage a branch of his company at St. Louis and other places. This responsible though subordinate position he was well quali fied to maintain, and with the powerful advanta ges of Caldwell's name and purse to support the respectability of the establishment, no matter if successful or not, his "official capacity" gained for him both friends and reputation. Three or four years afterward he went into management again on his own account with some success, and ultimately formed a partnership with Sol. Smith — a very worthy fellow, somewhat over charged with caricature fun, which is tolerated on the stage more for old acquaintance' sake in that part of the Union where he has been long known and respected, than for any other reason common sense could give. He had also been a strolling manager through some small towns in Alabama and Georgia, by which he had realized a reputed handsome property. At that short lived time when what went for money was in trinsically of little or no value, and, of course, most plentiful, a splendid theatre was built and leased to them at St. Louis; and the profits of their first season was immense, for, receiving only money at par, or specie, and disbursing the depreciated paper then generally in circulation, their opportunities for a profitable exchange were alone worth a little fortune. But in a theatrical point of view only, the requisites that can make a few tattered actors in a room or stable profita ble or respectable, are qualifications but ill cal culated to exalt or maintain what should be the state of the legitimate drama. ¦ And now that Caldwell will no longer serve as a check or an example, the perfect prostration of the profession at the South and West may be considered as certain. I have just heard that they have leased the Mobile Theatre, as well as that they call the St. Charles at New-Orleans. Anderson, who made his exit from Cincinnati as soon as his benefit was over, I again met here. He is an Englishman of good family, and married Jefferson's eldest daughter. Endowed with much natural and acquired talent, he can be a most agreeable companion, but so eccentric is his disposition, that his own and other's miseries are his only jokes : he will tell of a child having been run over, or something equally shocking, with a smile of satisfaction ; and a piece of good luck to himself or any of his friends, with a most melancholy countenance. Determined to be wretched and prostrate himself, he glories in meeting mankind in the same situation ; and the theatrical society he found at Louisville appear ed to actually intoxicate him with delight. His extreme disagreeableness was most amusing to me, and he was a constant visiter at my room at Langhorne's, then considered the principal hotel. Some five years ago, when everybody who did not care where they went, went to Texas, he went too ; and among the numbers I have known who have tried the experiment of making a liv ing in that experimental country, he is the only one I ever knew return without either person or apparel being the worse for the trip ; everybody else appeared as if they had slept in their hats all the while they were there ; but he was water proof in bat and heart, and was the same as ever ; and, according to his own account, he had literal ly lived all through the cholera on mushrooms of his own gathering. To his experience I left the selection of a boat for New-Orleans, as, in conse quence of procuring two passengers, he explained that the captain would take him for less than tbe usual charge, or, in all probability, "chalk his hat," and he chose the Helen M'Gregor, Tyson, master, on these favourable terms. A few days after we became intimate, byway of giving a business-like responsibility to our connexion, he became the borrower of a " V," as he called it, alias five dollars, which trifling ob ligation he soon increased to an "X;" but, un fortunately, my not being in the humour a day or two after to add another V to his Roman numer als, " my offence was rank," and he left me, high. PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 91 iyincensed at my ungentlemanlikeconduct; and though we travelled on the same boat, he did not even condescend to look at me, much less to speak, and I lost the gratification of his sarcastic pleasantries, for which there was such a glorious scope in the variegated party who constituted our companions. The morning after my arrival in New-Orleans, before I left my 'bed, a yellow woman with a cup of coffee announced a gentle man : I opened my eyes to see Mr. Anderson toss with an air of dignity on the coverlet ten silver \dollars, and then coming to my side, thrust forth his hand, and said, " Now, sir, I'm out of your ¦debt — shall we be friends again 1" I, of course, said yes, but urged that he would aot inconvenience himself by an immediate pay ment. "Sir!" said he, pompously, "take the vile trash, and never name the subject. I was part ly wrong, and you mistook your man." I laced my coffee ; he mixed himself some brandy-and- water; he has never asked to bor row, and I have never offered to lend, and I have had the pleasure of his acquaintance ever since, and he is still the same ; his well-merited, continual poverty serving to make his high sense of honour the more conspicuous. As an actor, he is highly respectable in all he undertakes ; and a little bit of him now and then is so delicious in a green-room, that wherever I am employed, and have influence with the man agement, Anderson is sure of an engagement. Jemmy Bland's reply, in Shakspeare's play, describes him to a nicety: " Who is this Coriolanusl" "Who is hel" said Jemmy, not knowing what he ought to say : " why, he's a fellow who is always going about grumbling, and making everybody uncomfortable." CHAPTER XV. " Oh, won't you — oh, won't you Go along with me Away down the river, Through Kentucky !"— Western Ballad. The floating palaces which now navigate the Western waters, bear as little likeness to the style •of vessels then in use, as the manners and char acters of the majority of passengers you , met with then, resemble the travellers who now as- •semble in the magnificent saloons of the pres ent day, where all tbe etiquette and decorum is ¦observed of a table d'hote at a well-appointed hotel. A sketch of what is will serve, by contrast, the better to convey an idea oT what was considered a first-rate class of boat in 1829. In speaking of the Western steamers of the present day, I shall only allude to that portion of the vessel appropriated to the passengers, and that must not be considered as identical, but an average description ; the Missouri, the Harry of the West, and twenty others, I could name as far exceed ing, in many instances, the portrait I shall draw. The saloon, or principal chamber, extends near ly the whole length of the boat, on the upper deck, over the machinery and steerage, as it is called — where comfortable accommodations are provided for the deck-hands and deck-passen gers — terminating forward with large glazed doors opening on a covered space called the boiler-deck, and aft by the ladies' cabin, with which it communicates by folding doors, which are generally left open in warm weather, in the daytime. The whole is lighted from above by a continuous skylight, round the side of a long oval, which looks as if it had been cut out from the ceiling, and lifted some two feet above it perpendicularly, and there supported by framed glass. On either side of this carpeted and splen didly-furnished apartment are ranged the state rooms, the doors ornamented with. Venitian or cut-glass windows, and assisting, by their long line of perspective, the general effect. These small chambers usually contain two berths, never more, which always look as if you were the first person who had ever slept in them — with curtains, moscheto-bars, toilet stands, draw ers, chairs, carpets, and all the elegant necessa ries of a cosey bedroom. Another door leads to the guard, or piazza, protected with a railing on the side, and covered overhead; and this forms a promenade all round the boat, and joins the boiler-deck, where you can lounge with your cigar, and view with wonder, perhaps with re gret, if your nature is picturesque, the hourly interference of untiring man with the solitude ofthe long-remembered wilderness. The ladies are even more carefully provided for; there is usually one, and often two grand pianofortes in their apartment; which 1 should consider a positive nuisance if obliged to hear them tickled to death by young beginners and nurse-maids amusing themselves by making be lieve to keep the children quiet; but, Heaven be praised, there is plenty of room to get out of the way, this area being usually from eighty to two hundred feet in length. In many of the lar ger boats double state-rooms are provided for families, and young married people who are afraid to sleep by themselves, with four-post bed steads, and other on-shore arrangements — such as are to be found at the St. Charles's Exchange, or Barnum's Hotel, or, what is better still, at home. Now the Helen M'Gregor was a very differ ent affair, but in her day her reputation was as high as anybody's or boat's. It was at night, and in December, raining and making believe to snow, when I arrived on board at Shipping Port, some two miles below Louisville; the boat be ing very heavily laden, and drawing too much water to get over the falls, and the canal was not then finished — a most beautiful piece of work, by-the-by ; the excavation being made in the solid limestone rock; gave it the appearance of an enormous empty marble bath. She was crowded with passengers : perhaps a hundred in the cabin, and at least that number upon deck; for at that time the steerage occupied the space now allotted to the saloon, and was filled to over flowing with men, women, and children, chiefly Irish and German labourers, with their families, in dirty dishabille. This man-pen was furnished with a stove, for warmth and domestic cooking, and two large, empty shelves, one above the other, all round, boarded up outside about four feet high. These served for sleeping-places for those who had bedding, or those who were obli ged to plankit; the remaining space above these roosts was only protected from the weather by tattered canvass curtains between the pillars which supported the hurricane-deck, alias the roof, which was spread over with a multitude of cabbages, making sourkrout of themselves as fast as possible, and at least fifty coops of fight ing-cocks, each in a separate apartment, with a hole in the front for his head to come through; and their continual notes of defiance, mixed up 92 THIRTY YEARS with the squalling and squeaking of women and children, and the boisterous mirth or vehement quarrelling ofthe men, in all kinds of languages, altogether kicked up a rumpus that drowned even the noise of the engine, which then was only separated from the cabin by a thin parti tion. By-the-by, all our old poets speak of " the cock, that is the herald of the morn," as if he did not crow in the night ! but only at the approach of day, and in the daytime. I know little about rural felicity in my own country; but here, in America, the cocks crow whenever they think proper, and always all night long, particularly on board a steamboat, because there you are more likely to take notice of the annoyance. The cabin was on the lower deck, immediate ly abaft the boilers, with a small partition at the stern set apart for the females. At the time 1 speak of, there were very few resident American merchants at New-Orleans at all, and those few generally left their families at home in the North and therefore the presence of woman — " Creatuie in whom excell'd Whatever can to sight or thought be form'd, Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet !" was no restraint on naturally barbarous man, and, consequently, " a trip down the river" was then an uncontrolled yearly opportunity for the young merchants and their clerks to go it with a perfect looseness, mixed up indiscriminately with "a sort of vagabonds" of all nations, who then made New-Orleans their " jumping-off place," till Texas fortunately offered superior inducements, and there war and disease have bravely thinned the hordes of " Rascals, runaways, and base lackey peasants, Whom their o'er-cloy'd countries vomit forth To desperate venture and assured destruction." All moral and social restraint was placed in the shade — there Jack was as' good as his master — and never was Republicanism more practically re- publicanized than it was during the twelve days of confinement I passed on board this high-pres sure prison. Some such a party I presume it was that Mrs. Trollope met with, which she, no doubt innocent ly, but ignorantly, gives as a specimen of the "domestic manners ofthe Americans." Poor old lady, what a mess she made of it ! There were no state-rooms, no wash-room, nor even a social-hall ; and, therefore, on the guard — within two inches of the level of the river, and about two feet wide, with nothing to prevent your falling overboard if your foot slipped, or " was a little swipey" — you made your toilet, with a good chunk of yellow soap on a stool, to which two tin basins were chained, and alongside a barrel of water. The cabin contained thirty-two berths ; and the two next the door Anderson had secured for myself and my dear boy. In the daytime these were piled up with the surplus mattresses and blankets, which, at night, were spread close together on the floor, and under and on the dining-tables, for so many ofthe remain der of the passengers as were fortunate enough to have precedence even in this luxury, after the berths were disposed of. The remainder ofthe party sat up, drinking, smoking, playing cards, or grumbling at not being able to find a single horizontal space, under cover, large enough to stretch their weary limbs on ; perhaps changing the scene of their discontent by going on shore at a wood-pile, and putting their eyes out by standing in the smoke of the signal-fire, to de fend themselves from the bloodthirsty attacks ot a million of moschetoes. Fortunately, the weather was most delightful for the season ofthe year, and Sam and I passed most of our time on the hurricane-deck, among the cabbages, leaving their fragrance behind; and the chicken-cocks, with Sam and the echoes, alt imitating one another. Your arrival at the mouth of the Ohio is visibly announced by the sudden and extraordinary discoloration of the water, which gives you notice the moment you pass the threshold of the great Mississippi.. . From childhood familiar with all the wonders of the ocean, a mental comparison with it and this gigantic river was natural to me, on first making its acquaintance ; and I confess it claim ed aformidable share ofthe awe and admiration I had hitherto considered only due, as far as wa ter was concerned, to my old associate. Call it the Missouri — which I wish it had been called — and it measures 4490 miles in length ! and if Ihe Mississippi, 2910, and passes through more than twenty degrees of latitude ! What a pity that that microscopic observer of nature on two legs, the immense Dickens, should so soon have made up his mind that it wasn't fit either to taste or talk of! " Oh ! think what tales he'd have to tell" if he, instead of taking the wrong pig by the ear,. had taken a trip or two up the Missouri wilh my worthy friend Captain Dennis, of the Thames, or had had the useless experience " Of wandering youths like me." The Upper Mississippi, as it is called — Goi send that every friend I have on earth could be hold for even once the stupendous wonders through which a portion ofthe navigable part of the Up per Mississippi rolls along — though the stream itself might wander through the world, and be likened (o a hundred others, or pass unnoticed; but when it joins the Missouri, or, more fitly speaking, when the Missouri takes possession of its course, its pure and placid character is gone forever. A Bath-brick finely pulverized and stirred up in a pailful of spring water may give a conceived resemblance of its colour and con sistency; and this appearance it maintains, with an interminable and never-ceasing rush, for the remainder of its journey, cf more than thirteen hundred miles. Well was it named " The Father of Waters," for even when the " crystal pavement,'' for a win ter month or two, suspends a portion of its navi gation, " The whole imprison'd river growls below," embracing in its mad career the thousands of miles of waters emptied into it by the Illinois, the Ohio, the Arkansas, the Red River, and the innumerable smaller streams, all aiding to in crease its power. And in return, the mighty ty rant overwhelms on the instant their transparent interference, and carries with it, in its turgid course, its mountain-stained identity, even for miles, into the Gulf of Mexico ! till, in contin uous struggles for the mastery, it fades away, ire oil-like circles, round and round the deep, dark blue of the old Atlantic. Who the ladies were on board, I know notr none were ever seen with the exception of Fanny Wright; and her notorious anti-matrimonial propensities, at that time, hardly gave her a claim to come under that denomination. As soon as our breakfast was over, which occupied an hour PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 93 and a half or more, the double row of tables, the extreme length of the cabin, consisting of a com mon mahogany one at each end, and the inter mediate space filled up by a pile of shutters laid side by side, and supported by trestles, had to be three or four times provided with venison, wild ducks, geese, and turkies, and all the luxuries of this o'ertceming country, and there called ¦common food. This operation ended, the origi nal Fanny would take her station at a small ta ble, near the door of the ladies' cabin, and sit and write or read till late at night, with the exception ofthe time for meals, and an hour or two of ex ercise upon the guard ; and the moment she made her appearance there, without form or show of ceremony, it was respectfully deserted by the men till her promenade was over. The Amer icans are naturally the most unostentatiously gallant people in the world. An Englishman will make a long apology for not doing what he should have done, and said nothing about it ; and a Frenchman will upset a glass of par) "ait V amour in a lady's lap, by dancing over a tea-stand to hand her a bon-bon, in an attitude ! Among the men were some most intelligent and entertaining companions. A day or two formed us all into little knots or parties ; and I was a member of a most delightful one, among whom was gladly admitted, for his good-humour and originality, the proprietor of the fighting cocks. He was a young man, but had evident ly taken so many liberties with Time, that he, in return, had honoured him with many conspicu ous marks of early favour, and milk-white tiairs began to dispute with his untrimned auburn locks the shading of his open, manly brow. He took a great fancy to my dear boy, and, in consequence, I was high in his favour and con fidence, and he insisted on telling me a portion of his history. His grandfather was a man of great wealth in the Old Dominion, and a distin guished member of her councils. His father, born to inherit his certain share of the property, began to spend it before he actually came in pos session of his fortune, married early in life, and lost his wife in giving birth to this only son ; and living night and day full gallop, died of literal old age at forty-five. " The night he died," said my young friend, putting a deck of marble-backed cards into his pocket, with which he had just satisfactorily concluded a game at old sledge, "the night he died, my father called me to the side of his *bed. ' Washington,' said he, taking my hand in his, which felt as cold and clammy as a dead fish, ' Washington, you'll never be able to pay off the mortgage on the property, and you'll be left without a dollar.' I said nothing ; it was of no use. ' Here, take my keys,' said he, ' and go to the escritoir, and in the right-hand little drawer you'll find— but no matter, bring the -drawer and all.' I did as I was told. 'Now,' said he, picking out the apparatus, ' send the boy to get a chicken, and I'll show you some thing I paid too dearly for the learning — and that's just it,' said the old man, with a deep sigh ; 'if my father had left me nothing else, I should not now leave my boy in poverty.' 1 couldn't speak, for I saw the old man rub his hand across his eyes, so I kept on waxing the silk as he had di rected. The boy had brought the bird — a perfect picture — he didn't touch the feathers; he had learned me all that, and how to hold a chicken, when- 1 wasn't bigger than your boy Sam, but the heeling was the grand secret. The old gen tleman then trimmed and sawed the spur, and spit upon the buckskin, telling me, all the time, to look on and mind what he was doing ; but he was so feeble the little exertion was loo much, and he got quite exhausted, and I made the boy take the cock, while I supported father. When he got through, ' There,' said he, triumphantly, with a kind of squeaking chuckle, ' that's ihe way to gaff a chicken! that will beat the world!' and fell back upon his pillow. He made the boy jump when he said, that's the way to gaff a chicken! and the steel jerked through the nig ger's hand — the blood spirted out upon the sheet ; and as I turned to sop it up, father's eves were full upon me, but yet he didn't look. ' father,' I said, softly, and waited, but he didn't speak: ' Father !' I put my ear close to his open mouth : ' Father,' I said again, but he didn't answer— the old gentleman was dead. But he had showed me how to gaff a chicken-cock." Playing at cards was the chief amusement at night, and my skill only extending to a homely game at whist, I was more frequently a looker on than a participator. My friend Washington was an adept at all short gambling games ; and one that 1 don't remember to have seen played since, and which he boasted of having been the inventor of, of course he was particularly expert at. It appeared a game of chance, as simple as tossing up a dollar. Two only played at it, and three cards were singly dealt to each, of the same value as at whist, and a trump turned up ; and the opponent to the dealer might order it to be turned down, and then make it another suit more agreeable to his hand, or play it aS it was. Of course, the great point in favour of the opponent to the dealer was to know if he held any trumps, and hmo many he had. For some time luck seemed to be greatly in favour of my chicken friend, and the bets were doubled — trebled, and he gave me a knowing, triumphant look, while glancing at his pile. But suddenly there came a sad reverse of fortune. Sitting by was an apparently uninterested looker-on like myself, peering over my friend's hand, and marking, by his fingers stretched upon the table, the number of trumps he held. The eagle eye of the Virginian soon detected the vil- lany, and taking out his hunting-knife — it was before Bowie christened them — began paring his nails with well-acted indifference, as if en tirely absorbed in the game, and laid it quietly on the table without its sheath. The next hand dealt him one trump, and the spy placed his fore-finger on the table, which my friend instant ly chopped off! " Hallo ! stranger, what are you about 1" shouted the dismembered gentleman. "You have cut off one of my fingers." " I know it," said old Virginia, coolly; " and if I had had more trumps, you would have had less fingers." This was considered an excellent practical joke, and we all took a drink together, and I lent the wounded a handkerchief to bind up his hand, which I reminded him last fall, at Gallatin races, that he had- forgotten to return. A lieutenant in the navy, on his way to Pen- sacola to join his ship, was one of our boat- mates, and belonged to the flooring committee — so all were called who had to sleep on it. Two ardent devotees at seven-up, finding no better place late at night, while he was fast asleep coiled away in his cloak, squatted on either side of him, and made his shoulder their table. 94 THIRTY YEARS The continual tip, tap, as the cards were played by each upon his back, rather aided his seaman like repose; but an energetic slap by one of the combatants at being "High, by thunder!" awa kened him, and looking up, one of the players, slightly urging down his head, said, in a confi dential whisper, " Hold on a minute, stranger; the game's just out — I've only two to go — have twelve for game in my own hand, and have got the Jack." He, of course, accommodated them, and when the game was out, he found they had been keep ing the run of it with chalk tallied on his stand-up coUa.r. One night, while I was getting instructed in the mysteries of uker, and Sam was amusing himself by building houses with the surplus cards at the corner ofthe table, close by us was a party playing poker. This was then exclu sively a high-gambling Western game, founded on brag, invented, as it is said, by Henry Clay when a youth; and if so, very humanely, for ei ther to win or lose, you are much sooner relieved of all anxiety than by the older operation. For the sake of the uninformed, who had bet ter know no more about it than I shall tell them, I must endeavour to describe the game when play ed with twenty-five cards only, and by four per sons. The aces are the highest denomination; then the kings, queens, Jacks, and tens ; the smaller cards are not used ; those 1 have named are all dealt out, and carefully concealed from one an other; old players pack them in their hands, and peep at them as if they were afraid to trust even themselves to look. The four aces, with any other card, cannot be beat. Four kings, with an ace, cannot be beat, because then no one can have four aces; and four queens, or Jacks, or tens, with an ace, are all inferior hands to the kings, when so attended. But holding the cards I have instanced seldom occurs when they are fairly dealt; and three aces, for example, or three kings, with any two of the other cards, or four queens, or Jacks or tens, is called a full, and with an ace, though not invincible, are consider ed very good bragging hands. The dealer makes the game, or value of the beginning bet, and called theanti — in this instance it was a dollar — and then everybody stakes the same amount, and says, " Im up." It was a foggy, wretched night. Our bell wae kept tolling to warn other boats of our where about or to entreat direction to a land ing by a fire on the shore. Suddenly a most tremendous concussion, as if all-powerful Nature had shut his hand upon us, and crushed us atl to atoms, upset our cards and calculations, and a general rush was made, over chairs and tables, towards the doors. I found myself, on the flash of re turning thought, with my dear boy in my em brace, and Fanny Wright sitting very affection ately close at my side, with her eyes wide open, in silent astonishment, as much as to say, " Have you any idea what they are going to do next!" and her book still in her hand. The cabin was entirely cleared, or, rather, all the. passengers were huddled together at the entrances, with the exception of one of the poker players; a gentle man in green spectacles, a gold guard-chain, long and thick enough to moor a dog, and a brilliant diamond breastpin: he was, apparently, quietly shuffling and cutting the poker-deck for his own amusement. In less time than I am telling it, the swarm came laughing back, with broken sentences of what they thought had happened, in which snags, sawyers, bolts blown out, and boilers burst, were most conspicuous. But all the harm the fracas caused was fright ; the boat, in round ing to a wood-pile, had run on the point of an island, and was high and dry among the first. year's growth of cotton-wood, which seems to- guaranty a never-ending supply of fuel to feed this peculiar navigation, which alone can com bat with the unceasing, serpentine, tempestuous current of the I-willrhave-my-mon-way, glorious Mississippi. The hubbub formed a good excuse to end our game, which my stupidity had made desirable long before, and I took a chair beside the poker- players, who, UTged by the gentleman with the diamond pin, again resumed their seats. It was his turn to deal, and when he ended, he did not lift his cards, but,sat watching quietly the coun tenances of the others. The man on his left hand bet ten dollars; a young lawyer, son to the then Mayor of Pittsburgh, who little dreamed of what his boy was about, who had hardly recov ered his shock, bet ten more ; at that time, fortu nately for him, he was unconscious of the real value of his hand, and, consequently, did not be tray by his manner, as greenhorns mostly do, his certainty of winning. My chicken friend bet that. ten dollars anifive hundred dollars better! " I must see that," said Green Spectacles, who now took up his hand, with " / am sure to win"" trembling at his fingers' ends; for you couldn't see his eyes through his glasses : he paused a mo ment in disappointed astonishment, and sighed " I pass," and threw his cards upon the table. The left-hand man bet "that five hundred dollars- and one thousand dollars better !" The young lawyer, who had had time to cal culate the power of his hand— four kings and an- ace — it could not be beat! but still he hesitated at the impossibility, as if he thought it could — look ed at the money staked, and then his hand again,. and, lingeringly, put his wallet on the table, ar.d- called. The left-hand man had four queens, with an ace ; and Washington, the four Jacks, with an. ace. "Did you ever see the like on'tl" said he,. good-humouredly, as he pushed the money to wards the lawyer, who, very agreeably astonish ed, pocketed his two thousand and tv;enty-three dollars clear ! The truth was, the cards had been put up, or stocked, as it is called, by the guard-chain-man while the party were off their guard, or, rather, on- the guard of the boat in the fog, inquiring if the boiler had burst ; but the excitement ofthe time had caused him to make a slight mistake in the distribution ofthe hand; and young "Six-and- eight-pence" got the one he had intended for him self. He was one of many who followed card playing for a living, a very common occupation al that time in that section of the country, but not properly coming under the denomination of the gentleman-sportsman, who alone depends on his superior skill. But in that pursuit, as in all others, even among the players, some black-sheep- and black-legs will creep in, as in the present in stance. After the actors, there is no class of persons so misrepresented and abused behind their backs as the professional gamblers, as they are called; especially by those who sit down to bet against them every night without their wives and fam ilies knowing anything about it, and who would think it most praiseworthy to cheat them out of PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 95 every dollar they had, if they knew how. As in my trade, the depraved and dishonourable are selected as the sample of all. But the majority are men too frequently born under similar cir cumstances with my good-hearted friend Wash ington, and left without any other resource but the speed of a horse, or the courage of a cock, to ob tain wealth, in a world where to be rich is con sidered of too much importance. My way of life has for years thrown me much in their soci ety, in steamboats and hotels, and as a general body, for kindness of heart, liberality, and sin cerity of friendship — out oftheirline of business — they cannot be excelled by any other set of men who make making money their only mental oc cupation. And now, wicked reader, go on shore with me at Natchez " under the hill," on a Sunday morning, where our jovial captain, Tyson, tied up his boat for the day, for the sake of his pas sengers' enjoying a spree. He was of the race, which miscalled ' refinement has almost made extinct, who would lake the grand mogul or a giant by the nape of his neck and pitch him overboard, to wriggle a minute and then be suck ed under the Mississippi, if he did not .behave himself; and take a poor woman and her babes as passengers, and nurse, feed, blanket, and physic them all for nothing, and provide them with employment, or put money in their pock ets till they found some way of living, all in the same breath. He and Captain Shrieve were selected by the government to combat with the Red River Raft, and there they have met with their match. But, now I think of it, you must be tired of this steamboat trip, so we'll pass Natchez by, and land at New-Orleans. CHAPTER XVI. * " Sister of joy! thou art the child who wearest Thy mother's dying smile, tender and sweet ; Thy mother Autumn, for whose grave thou bearest Fresh flowers, and beams like flowers, with gentle feet, Disturbing not the leaves which are her winding-sheet.'1 Revolt of Islam. Shelley's beautiful thought applies, in its fullest force, to New-Orleans, even in Decem ber: for there " Winter's savage train" is literal ly left out of the calendar, and a long summer meets in luxurious greenness an early spring. There had been a formidable rise, and the river was in all ils glory ; overtaking the up rooted, " unmanufactured produce ofthe forest," and running on its own-made hill, actually above the land on either side, which gave us an oppor tunity, not to be enjoyed at a low stage of water, of viewing the magnificent homesteads of the planters on the coast. It was a dark and drizzly evening when we arrived at New-Orleans, and landed at the foot of Poydrass-street, then close to the Levee, and before a wharf was built in the upper faubourg, now the Second Municipality, and parcel ofthe city. Captain Still, a harmless teacher of mu sic, but who had been an actor, and honestly earned his warlike title by being so often adver tised for all the Captains, "with a song," was my conductor to the Camp-street Theatre. At the time I speak of, an experienced pilot, with a lan tern, could scarcely save you, in rainy weather, from being knee-deep in mud in wading to the Banquette, then only curbed by the old timbers of ,a broken-up flat-boat; doomed by the impedi mental current of the river never again to reachj the quiet spot where it was launched, "Amid the obsolete prolixity of trees." I have seen two mules with a dray sink in a mudhole, in the now well-paved Camp-street, and struggle for an hour, till hauled out by ropes, with only their ears and noses above the mire to assure you they were there ! The enterprising, great Caldwell— "great will I call him" — for who but he, chained down by a profession which all the world is ever willing to degrade, would, or could, have first attempted to raise the standard of the American drama in the outskirts of a city then governed by the- refugees of France and Spain, and the imme diate inheritors of all their national prejudices -T and speaking— that apparently insurmountable- obstacle to his pursuit — a different language? But he was undismayed, and built the brave old Camp : one of the prettiest of theatres, and bet ter adapted to that peculiar climate, and charac ter of the theatrical patrons, than any I have ever seen. Caldwell's energies were not alone con fined behind the scenes; his prophesying was listened to by the wealthy and intelligent Amer icans, and his example followed in buying and improving property in the immediate neighbour hood ; and it is now admitted by all that he is the actual founder of the Second Municipality, as it is called, but really first in everything; its- churches, hotels, squares, and well-paved, expan sive streets leaving the old city "away down> the river," literally out of town. With his own hard-earned, handsome fortune, in 1836 he rais ed a temple to the drama on a spot where, a few years before, a swamp had been, far excelling in. extent and magnificence any building of the- kind on this continent, and comparing with ad vantage wilh any in the older world. At the time I speak ofthe Camp was the only building in the city lighted with gas, manufactured on the premises, and superintended by an intelli gent Scotchman named Allen ; and thus prac tically educated, by experimenting with an ap paratus not much larger than a cooking-stove,, Caldwell ultimately introduced that best of all police to the whole city, and became the presi dent ofthe New-Orleans Gas-light and Banking-' Company. The destruction of the " Temple" ' by fire on Sunday evening, the 13th of March, , 1842, with property to the enormous amount of half a million of dollars, prostrated, in all prob ability, his dramatic fortunes forever. But his energetic nature is still unconsumed, and, as an. able member in the councils of his adopted city,.. he still promises long to continue to witness and'' aid her increasing prosperity. Hamblin I found just concluding an engage ment, at the termination of which I entered. into a most successful one for "a few nights,"" which, to the advantage of all parties, was re newed from week to week, till the "springtime ofthe year" found me parting with regret from a host of new-found friends. The company,.., taken collectively, was the best by far on the- continent, the gentlemanly though austere na ture of Caldwell ensuring to all kindred spirits a lasting and profitable employ under his liberal- government. Richard Russell was his acting: manager, with whom I formed a friendship which ended with my paying the mournful cere mony of holding ihe corner of his pall. Miss; Placide, Mrs. Rowe and her husband, Hernizen„ Field, Old Gray, all, too, are gone ; and others, 36 THIRTY YEARS •which any eulogium of mine to their memory would but painfully disturb the slumbering rec ollections of their numerous lamenting friends. Mrs. Russell and her charming daughter are ¦still ornaments to the stage, the widow paying the highest tribute of respect in her power to her husband's memory, by still retaining his name. The daughter married my worthy friend, George Percy Farren, and she is now, and has been for isome years, the principal attraction of Ludlow and Smith's company ; the expression of sincere regret at her yearly departure from St. Louis obliterated, in turn, by the smiles which always welcome her at New-Orleans. The amiable wom an and the talented actress were never more happily blended than when nature selected her as the model for both. Every one who knows Jier loves her, the endearing freshness of child hood still remaining to adorn the well-borne du ties of the wife and mother. It was my intention to have returned to the North again by the river, and, of course, I gave fthe Helen M'Gregor the preference as a convey ance ; but, unfortunately, or, rather, fortunately, I missed my passage. I arrived at the Lev6e with my dear boy and baggage just five minutes after the boat had started, and at Memphis her boiler burst, and an extraordinary number of jiassengers were blown into eternity as she shoved off from the landing. " It had been so with us, had we been there;" but "those who are born to be" — " the proverb is something musty." And in the good little ship Talma, Captain Den- Tiis — who now sails a vessel large enough to lake her as a cabin passenger — after a boisterous passage of twenty-eight davs, we arrived atNew- "Vork. CHAPTER XVII. "What need'st thou run so many miles about, When thou may'st tell thy tale the nearest way ?" ShakspearE's Richard III. My then " sweet home" was at Philadelphia, -where we were joyfully welcomed the following *day. That summer poor Charles Gilfert died, and Hackett and Hamblin became the lessees of the Bowery, a which I was engaged. But as my early acquaintance, Hamblin, whom I had ever considered as a brother, properly ex pressed it, " friendship has nothing to do with business ;" and as I was unreasonable enough to believe that it should, our theatrical connex ions terminated forever at the end of three nights. Russell had taken the Tremont Theatre, and I engaged with Caldwell as his acting manager at New-Orleans for the coming season, broke -up my establishment at the North, as we South ern gentlemem call all places where the ice grows, determining to make the Far West my home for the future. Willard employed me to conduct the Rich mond Theatre for him for a month, where Cald- -well and young Kean were to play a few nights, on their way to New-Orleans; and that job end ed, I made my route through Virginia over the mountains, by the way of Charlottesville and the Sulphur Springs, to meet the Ohio River once more at Guyandotte. " Memory, the bequest of the past to the pres ent and the future," urges me to linger in recol- .lection of this most wondrous country ; but it is not gcrman to the character of this book to do so — that is, if this book has any character at all — and I must therefore pass it by, as other travellers have done, for I know of none who have ever noticed it I That year I bought a pretty little farm of one hundred acres in Whitewater township, Ham ilton county, Ohio, eighteen miles northwest from Cincinnati, and seven due south from the estate of General Harrison, then clerk of the County Court ; a most amiable and kind-heart ed neighbour, he then as little dreaming as I did that in ten years from that time he would be the most enthusiastically popular President of the United States ever known, "for a little month." What a queer world it is ! He might, in all probability, have lived there, for many years, but for this over-excitement that was heaped upon him, honoured as the defender of his country in her determination to maintain the position she had achieved, and pointed out in his calm old age as a model for the American farmer in the peaceful valley of the Miami. To compare small things with large, I meant, and had a right to believe then, that there 1 should pass the remainder of my days, making my pro fession, during the winter months, a profitable pastime. But it was not to be. When Caldwell built his Dramatic Temple in 1836, 1 once more joined his standard for the season, and was hail ed as New-Orleans knows how to welcome back a favourite ; but, in the midst of our splendid career, I was unexpectedly laid on a bed of sick ness for four long months ; and to Doctor Ca rey, who tended my flickering chance of life with all the devotedly intense anxiety a timid child bestows upon an almost exhausted taper, left between it and darkness, I am indebted for being able now to say, I here, for the sake of others, throw a veil of oblivion over my theat rical life, which individually I should wish to lift. For what gate leading through life is so strongly barred, even by virtue and religion — putting out of the question our compelled busi ness in the world, which sometimes leaves it open — where poverty, disease, and death does not unhinge the doors, and, in one or all these shapes, take possession of our chimney-corner, and drown in unearned wretchedness the bright ness of our domestic hearth 1 I have endured the tortures of all these, in their most terrific forms ; but I am " one, in suffering all, that suffers no thing" in appearance ; an iron constitution has upheld what, in a fragile one, would have been sympathized with as a sensitive mind ; and my uncountable number of friends in the United States — I shake hands with twenty-five thou sand at least every year— will bear me out in the assertibn, that during the varieties of fortune they have known me to struggle with, " Old Joe Cowell" has always seemed the same. But, my dear wicked reader! — "so must I call you now,'' for we should by this time be on very familiar terms — I have not achieved this boasted reputa tion from apathy for the miseries I have endu red : no ; but from the self-satisfactory triumph between myself and my nature, of proving my power to conceal them. And I have often gone to a theatre, and made an audience, you inclu ded, "die with laughing," when I have felt my heart broken into such little pieces, that I have expected to see the fragments leaking out through the darns in the funny stockings I was wearing for Crack. The nature of my task, as I have already ob served, prevents me from giving even a sketch PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. rf7 wf the beautiful "Crescent City," as she now is; but to me she must ever be most dear, as the depository of one unlettered tomb, on which I never " Shall have length of days enough To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes." CHAPTER XVIII. ' It is time to close what I have to say of myself ; one never gets anything by egotisms, -which is a species of in discretion that the public hardly ever excuses, even when we are forced upon them."— J. J. Rousseau. From the little experience I have gained while making this book, I firmly believe that the main difficulties an author has to encounter, in any work of the same ephemeral character, is to skilfully arrange a beginning and an end. A well-chosen text often entreats listening for a prosing sermon, and "many a dull play has been saved by a good epilogue." In choosing a book, too, of this class, the first and last chapters are all that are ever consulted; and, in many instances, all that are ever read. But I am deprived of the many advantages which fiction could so easily furnish, to dazzle and disarm criticism, and secure applause at the close of this performance, in consequence of being tied down by a plain, matter-of-fact narrative, and must, therefore, against my will, put an end to my theatrical life, in the same uninteresting, in sipid manner in which it actually occurred. The remaining chapters will therefore contain as brief a detail as possible of the circumstances attending my last engagement, which may be considered as a very favourable picture of the dramatic world as it now exists in the United States. CHAPTER XIX. * " In another room we found comedians shut up for having made the world laugh. Said they, ' If by chance some equivocal words have impressed the spectators with evil thoughts, was it not rather their fault, than ours V " ' Oh !' said the devil to me, ' if they had done no more than that, they should scarcely have come here ; but think of their lost time, knaveries, and secret crimes ! No, it is not the comedy which damns the players ; it is what passes behind the scenes.' ',' — Quivedo's Vision of Hell. After the destruction of the St. Charles, John Greene and myself took a lease from Caldwell of the Nashville Theatre, which we opened in April and closed in July, 1842. Our company was highly creditahle oh and off the stage, and we re alized all we expected in that beautiful little city, with the exception of money. Mr. Buckstone and Mrs. Fitz William were our chief attractions, with the single exception of Martin Van Buren ;. he very kindly visited the theatre one evening, and it was filled to overflowing. I should like to have engaged him, on his "own terms," for the season. But Buckstone and the joyous Fanny ¦were not so successful ; their best house amount ed to two hundred and eleven dollars, and their worst to thirty-eight; and we paid them half the gross proceeds ! ! The American, and the "Old Camp," then used as an auction mart, were both burned down — by design, no doubt — during the summer ; and every effort Caldwell could exert to restore the Temple had totally failed, leaving New-Orleans without any theatre saving the French Opera- house. The proprietors at length agreed to re- .H build the American, which was offered to Cald well and accepted; and the day he signed the contract, his man of business, worthy George, Holland, sent me an offer in his name. When I arrived in New-Orleans, in October, a very few minutes' conversation with my friend Cald well gave me reason to believe it would be more to my interest to take an engagement for the win ter at Mobile, if at that late period I could obtain one. The next morning I crossed the lake, and succeeded. The theatre there, Caldwell, who is the proprietor, had leased for the season to Messrs. De Vandel and Dumas. The former is "president pro tern." of the Gas Company; and the latter a celebrated- restaurateur, who, having made a supposed fortune by keeping an eating- house and opening oysters, thought to easily in crease it by opening a theatre. Charles Fisher, who is " secretary to the Gas Company," was em ployed by the "president pro tern." to select the performers, his knowledge and experience in theatrical matters being as notorious as that he is " brotlier to the celebrated Clara Fisher." Now he being very desirous of proving his friendship for the Jefferson family, engaged all the imme diate descendants of the " old man" now alive, and as many of the collateral branches as were in want of situations. Mrs. Richardson had been in Mobile the season before, and therefore she was the nucleus around whom was clustered her two sisters and their husbands, Messrs. Mac kenzie and Wright ; her brother, Mr, Joseph Jefferson, and his two very clever children, and her niece, Mrs. Germon, and the good man who gave her that name. The whole company, in consequence, were literally in the family way, with the exception of Jemmy Thome and my self, Mrs. Stewart, Morton, and Hodges and his lady; so that when poor Joe Jefferson died of the yellow fever, whieh he did on the 24th ot November, the theatre had to be closed for two nights, for without the assistance of the chief mourners we Could not make a performance. By-the-by, it should have been said before, that the "president pro tern." had backed out, and Jules Dumas became the "sole lessee;" but, un fortunately for him, the "secretary" had made the selection before he or his stage-manager had any control. ¦Dumas was a Frenchman born, and, while a mere child, had been thrown headlong into the world's vortex, and had struggled round and round in. every possible capacity where shrewd ness and industry were all the capital required, to make money, till at last he got a little out of his depth, as the manager ofthe Mobile Thea tre. His dramatic education had been obtained by being employed for a short time by the Rav els, as a sort of prompter and interpreter, and having kept the saloons with great success. Bun even in the intricate conduct of a theatre, his su perior talent for finance saved him from the pe cuniary embarrassments which, in all probabil ity, would have prostrated an American or an Englishman, surrounded by the same encum brances. Well schooled, by saloon experience, in the modern propensities of dramatic life off the stage, immediately opposite the theatre he had a snug, quiet, well-appointed drinking-room, where backgammon, dominoes, and other inducements to conviviality might be comfortably indulged in, with the advantage of unlimited credit at the bar. And behind the scenes, contrary to the usu al fastidious rules in most well-regulated estab lishments, a servant was ready to procure, at a 98 THIRTY YEARS moment's notice, anything required, from a bot tle of Champagne down to a gin-cocktail. Con sequently, a large portion of each salary — some times all — was paid in liquor to most of the gentlemen (including myself) beforehand; and the balance, if any, it was in his power to retain as a forfeit, should any one be imprudent enough to take a drop too much. And by this very in genious, tariff-like system, each actor was liable to a heavy tax upon his income, without feeling or considering that he was putting his earnings again into the pocket of the manager. The taste and moral wants of the audience were quite as carefully provided for. Next to the tavern he erected a spacious assembly-room, where, two or three times a week, as policy dic tated, a ball was given, where "ladies that have their toes unplagued with corns" could dance, and drink iced-punch, and sip hot coffee free of all expense ; and gentlemen in character or with out character, or disguised in any way, even in liquor, or in "happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows," by paying only one .dollar for a ticket, could jig away a harmless night to the ear-pier cing noise of a negro band, and fancy themselves in heaven or Wapping, Paris or a lunatic asy lum, without any extra charge. It was a glori ous relaxation from the perils of the sea and toils of cotton sampling for the jolly Yankee captains and honest deacons' sons, whose early days had passed unknowing such enjoyments. The mas ter of the ceremonies was a sleek-haired down- easter, from some place "where the sun rises" — he was a delicious character — a study for Dan Marble — he looked so particularly out of his natural element, dancing in his hat — I mean, with his hat on — his coat out at elbows, and a large diamond breastpin. It was a delightful place for fun or philosophy. I had a free ad mission, and was there every night. Hodges, one of the very best educated tenor singers on the continent, but too lazy to assert the fact, had, from some cause or other, been ap pointed by Dumas stage-manager, an office which nature, habit, and inexperience rendered him more unfit to sustain than any other man of the same high respectability in the Union. He said to me, seriously, and in a business-like man ner, one night, in the office, " Cowell, have you ever played the comic part in the Apostate 1" Of course I said, "Yes, often. But there are two comic parts," said I, " Pescara and Malec. Now if Thome will do one, I'll do the other." Unfortunately, the stars — Kirby and Jones — had named these characters for themselves, or I believe he would have cast the play as I dictated. Whatever talent his good lady possessed, was entirely obscured by her transcendent personal charms — the beautiful Miss Nelson will no doubt be recollected, as the "divine perfection of a woman" who played with some success du ring Fawcett's stage-management at Covent Gar den. Now this lady, and Mrs. Stewart, and Mrs. Richardson, were all engaged for the same line of business. Mrs. Stewart ahd Mrs. Richardson were both powerful favourites with the audience, and the stage-manager very naturally believed his wife was a much better actress than either of them, and, by placing her continually and fa vourably before the public, hoped, in time, to get them to think as he did ; but she couldn't play everything ; Mrs. Richardson was, therefore, kept full in sight, but Mrs. Stewart was scarcely seen or heard of. Dumas was easily convinced ofthe folly of paying three ladies for doing what! two were made sufficient to perform, and deter mined to get rid of one of them ; but, unfortu nately, made an imprudent selection. A long part was sent to Mrs. Stewart, which, as was expected, she refused, or said she couldn't learn in the short time required, and a forfeit of a week's salary was the consequence ; which, being resisted, ended in a discharge. She sued for the amount, and gained her suit: the next week the same course was repeated, with the same result. It was then agreed, mutually,, to have the matter settled by arbitration. Some gentlemen of high standing were chosen on both sides ; and they decided in favour of the lady, awarding her her salary and a benefit, according; to the contract, which, they agreed, had not been violated on her part; but with this verdict Du mas very impolitically refused to comply. Mrs. Stewart, though not actually bom in Mo- bile-ji-very few people are born in Moble who- can possibly avoid it — was, from a residence- there since childhood, held in the respect of a most estimable citizen. The regard demanded by her exemplary conduct as a daughter, wife,, and mother, perhaps, might cause her actual tal ent to be a little overrated; but on the honest,, unmolested exercise of that talent depended, not only her own support — now a widow — but that of an aged parent and her two orphan children ;: the course Dumas had pursued was, therefore,. justly considered an insult to public opinion, in selecting, as a victim to his untheatricaf arrange ments, a lady so conspicuously entitled to moral consideration and support. A most delicious row was the consequence ; and it so fell out, that it occurred on the very night that Hackett had advertised that he would prove to the whole crit ical world — or, at any rate, as large a portion of it as might be found in Mobile — that Kean knew nothing at all about the character of Richard the Third, and Cook but very little ; but that he,. after long study and research, had arrived at the genuine, historical, and Shaksperian meaning of the part, and, on that occasion, would so deline ate it. The house was filled as soon as the doors were opened, for most of the audience rushed in without paying, made a prodigious noise, broke some benches and gas-fixings, and demanded a free benefit for Mrs. Stewart, and the whole of her salary to be paid for the ten weeks — the period of her engagement — all which Dumas was obliged to agree to. The mayor made a speech, and the row was over; and Hackett was left to deliver himself of his great conception. Under the cir cumstances, a fair judgment couldn't be formed. The little I saw of it I thought was very odd,, and very original, and reminded me very much of his unique manner of performing Rip Van Winkle. CHAPTER XX. " The best thing in him Is his complexion.; and faster than his tongue Did give offence, his eye did heal it up. He is not tall, yet for his years he's tall ; His leg is but so so, and yet His well; There was a pretty redness in his lip, A little riper and more lusty red Than that mix'd in his cheek ; 'twas but the difleienu Between the constant red and mingled damask." As You Like It. Hackett may be more properly called a suc cessful dramatic merchant than an actor. Ha PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. Started in business with a very small lot of goods to be sure, but their variety was suitable to many markets; and, with great tact and shrewdness he made everybody believe they could not be 'ob tained at any other shop. Rochefoucault says, " The only good copies are those which expose the ridiculousness of bad originals." But, be that as it may, with an im itation of poor old Barnes that amounted to iden tity, he made " The two Dromios one in 'semblance," .and gained, without farther study or struggle, a reputation, which many, with industry and tal- •ent, have wasted a lifetime in endeavouring to .attain. His profits were enormous. Barnes went with him everywhere, caricaturing him self, to increase the effect. When this attraction .began to flag, who but Hackett would have thought of using Colman's excellent but seldom- acted play of " Who wants a Guinea 1" as a ve hicle tor introducing such a sketch of humanity as Solomon Swapl And though whittling a •stick and cheating a man out of a watch are not "very complimentary characteristics to select for a Yankee portrait, they were highly relished by the audience, from being better understood than -Solomon Gundy's unpractical jokes and broken French. Hill and Marble put in their very su perior claims to delineations of that description, which interfered greatly with the original invent or ; but Hackett had an unapproachable re source in his ancestral dialect, and in Rip Van Winkle he could securely say, " You can't come it, judge!" When Kean was driven from the stage, reek ing with criminality in public opinion, Hackett undertook to play Richard the Third in imitation -of him, the high reputation he had gained as a mimic giving warranty of a skilful likeness. Now here was an excellent opportunity given to the curiously virtuous to admire the secondhand mental beauties of Kean, portrayed by a gentle man of unquestionable private worth and moral ¦deportment, without having their nicer feelings shocked by the actual presence of the depraved original. This must be admitted to have been a clear-headed mercantile conception, but, strange •to say, it didu't answer. I so advertised him at Baltimore sixteen years ago ; but it failed to attract a house, in the first place, and the larger portion of those who did come went away before the exhibition was half over. In fact, Hackett, from the first, looked upon the drama as an easy means of acquiring wealth with very scanty materials, if properly managed, and he has real ized the justness of his calculation. He still holds a high place in dramatic estimation ; though he thought it necessary, the winter before the last, at New-Orleans, to rouse up public atten tion by a long ancestral and heraldic expose, which occupied half the columns of a short-lived •newspaper there, to prove that, though he con descended to conduct himself like a plain, hon- ¦est, well-disposed Republican player, he was, for all that, a real baron ! And I'll bear witness that " that is a fact;" for some six years ago, in order •to remove the possibility of any doubt or quib ble on the subject that might arise hereafter, he -actually imported his ancestor, with the title, and Dutch dialect — a most gentlemanly man, and a very ingenious gunsmith, with red and white mustache. He died of the yellow fever, and was Ituried at New-Orleans in the summer of 1839 -or 1840, and therefore Hackett is now the last of 99 the barons of that ilk, Bulwer's novel to the con trary notwithstanding. By-the-by, Hackett, if you have not read the book I allude to, do; you will find an excellent hint for a new conception of Richard there. Connor was another star: a very gentleman like specimen of well-dressed mediocrity ; not good enough in anything to be bad by compari son with himself in anything. He possesses an excellent wardrobe, and knows so well how to use it, that, in consequence, he often looks the character he intends to represent so excellently, that I have frequently felt sorry he was obliged to say anything about it. Richelieu is one of the parts I allude to. I am told he plays it in imitation of Forrest; but I can't believe it; he reminds me very strongly of Blanchard, of the Coburgh's manner of tottering about after he was changed, by a slap of Harlequin's bat, to the "lean and slippered Pantaloon." Connor has his ancestors too. Some few years since, at St. Louis, the papers made it to be un derstood that he had great expectancies from a rich uncle. They didn't say if the old gentleman was a baron or not, but went on to explain that the nephew considered emolument a secondary matter, and was merely acting for his own amusement : an excellent way, by-the-by, of ac counting for his style. It took. He got great applause, and was driven about and drenched with Champagne by all the first young dry-goods and grocery men in the city — they have all ta ken the benefit of the Bankrupt Act since — and they made him a great house. But on bis re turn, a few months afterward, the same paper, by way of variety, I imagine, hinted at "pecuni ary embarrassments," " domestic claims on his in come," " disappointments :" his uncle wouldn't die, I suppose; or else he had, "and made no sign" in his favour ; in short, the truth leaked out that he was " an honest, exceeding poor man," and could lay claim to the negative virtue of sup porting an aged mother ; and the corks ceased to pop, and the benefit was a comparative failure. To secure a bumper this time (in Mobile), it was advertised that a splendid silver cup would be presented to him by a committee of gentlemen, who had long admired his public virtue and private talent. ft answered so well, that on my night I got a committee of gentlemen to take a fancy to my public and private virtue, and present me with a splendid tin cup. Connor had the best house ; but when it is taken into consideration that his silver cup must have cost from eight to ten dol lars, and I only gave six bits for my tin pot, I guess, in the end, we were about even. Mrs. Sefton, the very best general actress on the continent, adorned the theatre through a long engagement ; and Miss Mary Anne Lee, " the celebrated American danseuse," and Joe Field, with some pleasant new farces, proved a refreshing relief. The audience were in ecstasies at her attainments, and the press declared she was quite equal to Ellsler. I am no judge of dan cing, and I never saw Ellsler ; but I hope it's the fact; for her father was a worthy creature, and a great favourite of mine, and I have known her to be a very good little girl ever since she was dancing in her mother's arms, and I am oldfash- ioned enough to have a strong prejudice in fa vour of old acquaintances. Dan. Marble, that most irresistibly comic soul, came with his bundle of fun. He possesses that extraordinary arbitrary power of making you laugh whether you like it or not : no matter it 100 THIRTY YEARS you have the toothache, the headache, or the heartache ; the cool, quiet, deliberate nonsense, if you please, with which he surrounds you, as if he didn't mean to. do it, would make you laugh at a funeral. In my opinion, he is a much supe rior actor than he himself, or the public in gen eral, believe him to be. It is an abstract portion of nature, to be sure ; but so perfect, so pure, that if you are not even acquainted with the source from whence the picture is drawn, you can swear that it is a likeness. The pieces which he car ries on his shoulders are generally sad trash; but if he could get Buckstone, or some of these dramatic tacticians, to prepare two or three for him, and go to London, if he did not make a pow erful impression, I will resign all claim to any judgment in such matters. The management, no doubt, must have looked at some future point of policy when they enga ged Ludlow and Smith as stars at Mobile! Not both together; that would have been too much to expect ; neither do they shine to advantage in the same sphere. They each have a favourite round of characters ; but, strange to say, very nearly the same round of characters are the fa vourites with each. In their own theatres, this is very amicably arranged between them. In the first place, Sol. Smith has given up the en tire range of high tragedy to Ludlow, with the exceptions of Hecate and the High-priest in Pizzaro ; he also retains The Three Singles, an other bit of tragedy ; but, as a set-off, Ludlow is permitted to play Baron Willinghurst, which he makes equally melancholy, six or eight times in every season ; and as he has to keep looking like Ludlow, and change his dress seven times, it may be justly considered a fair equivalent. Puff, in the " Critic," they do turn and turn about. Sol. plays Darby, and Ludlow, Nipperkin ; and they both amuse themselves with the Lying Valet oc casionally. Now Smith came first; and, not sat isfied with playing all his own pets, took a touch at one of his partner's, Frederic Baron Willing hurst. I don't want to kick up a row between them, but I decidedly think myself it was taking rather .an unfair advantage of Ludlow. They are both remarkably good-looking men| but Lud low, as the saying is, is no chicken, and though he is most abstemious in his habits, particularly in eating, he is getting a little clumsy for light comedy, especially about tbe legs. What a change a few years will make in a man ! I re member him a perfect he-sylph in appearance. Now Smith still retains his figure, and the same fine, frank, joyous, elegant, yet playful deport ment that he ever had. But, then, he is extreme ly particular about his personal appearance on or off the stage. I don't believe he either pads or laces, but he might be suspected of doing both; proud of his hair, his nails — I mean his finger nails — and when he laughs, you can count ev ery tooth he has in his head. Now, knowing his superior advantage over Ludlow, and that his engagement would commence immediately after his was concluded, and that Ludlow must play Baron Willinghurst or die, his forestalling him in that part, I say it again, was very unkind. Of course, 1 did not see Smith play the Baron; but I saw him dressed for the first scene. His coat was a little too short in the sleeves, to be sure ; but that could not be said ofthe tail; and it was very Revolutionary in its general character; white trousers, which had been badly packed ; a very suspicious-looking hat ; and a pair of high- lows without strings. Well, as arranged by the sapient manage ment, Ludlow followed, with the Lying Valet, Doctor Pangloss, She Stoops to Conquer, cut down to the Humours of Young Marlow ; Nipper- kin, the Duke in the Honeymoon; and on my benefit night he requested me to let him play Baron Willinghurst, and, as I wanted something. to give time for me to change my dress, I con sented, but suggested that any of his other farce parts would be better, as Smith had already played the Baron. " Smith played the Baron !" said he. " Psh-a- a-a-w !" I wish I could write down his face at that moment. " Smith played the Baron ! Pshaw !'| and he looked as if he had swallowed a bad oyster- " Smith played it 1 Then that's the very reason why I wish to do it myself." And I hadn't the heart to refuse him, though.- I knew it would keep money out of the house. Young Vandenhoff, an infinitely better actor than his father was at the same age, played to- empty benches for a few nights; and Sinclair was mixed up with Sol. Smith, so that it was- hard to tell who kept the money out of the house,. but he proved to the few who did hear him the feeble power Time, in his case, has had over " Linked sweetness long drawn out." But the great incident of the season was the first appearance, on any stage, of Mr. Charles- Fisher, in the character, of Dazzle, in London Assurance. Gifted with a refined taste and great literary acquirements, and his whole life- having been passed in intimate association with theatricals, it was unthinkingly supposed, in consequence, that he would present a more than usually brilliant display of histrionic talent. A large audience was assembled on the occasion, but not so large as might have been expected. under the circumstances, when, in addition to. the high claims on public favour of the fair ben eficiary, for whom he had gallantly volunteered his services, it is remembered that Mr. Fisher has been a resident of Mobile for some years,, both summer and winter, and universally known and respected. In proof of his great popularity, among other honorary distinctions may be named,, that he is a Mason, Odd Fellow, corresponding secretary for the Jockey Club, full private in the- volunteer artillery, a fireman, a cowbellian, the- founder, and a member for life of the Can't-get- away Club, and, as I have before stated, making; a living as secretary to the Gas Company. Now all this should, at any rate, have produced a full- house, but it did not. I staked half an eagle to- a sovereign with Joe Field, that there would be six hundred dollars, and I lost my American! gold. Suffering from great nervous embarrassment,, and his natural timidity increased by the knowl edge of how much was expected of him by the overwrought anticipations of his friends, who- had long looked up to him as the sole dramatic oracle for the State of Alabama, he became per fectly bewildered, and certainly did make a sad; mess of poor Dazzle. No allowance was made for stage fright. A highly-finished, experienced per formance was fully expected from a critic " Whose lash was torture, and whose praise was fame ;" and his devotees were actually angry with him because he was not himself all that he had ex plained to them, in print and private, a good! player ought to be. Bjjt I see no reason why ha PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 101 might not, with a little practice, make a star at any rate, if he wouldn't answer for a regular ac tor. He has excellent requisites for the kind of parts which assimilate with that he made choice of for his debut. An immense point in his favour is his extremely youthful appearance, for which he is chiefly indebted to his fine pink complexion, resembling the Jack of Hearts ; with the same large, soft, washed-out-blue-looking eye, and not unlike him in figure when dressed in regiment als, if Jack wore a bustle. When diamonds are trumps at a game at uker, I always think of Char ley, if I happen to have the left bower guarded. A Mr. Kirby, and Mr. G. W Jones, "the cel ebrated delineator of American sailors," two more stars, twinkled through a week or two ; but if I was to devote a page in giving a description of fheir talent, it is probable by the time that page is in print they will have ceased to shine,, and Ihe reader would then wonder who I was talking about. "¦ A strong Frenchman — / won't remember his name — proved the strongest attraction of the sea son. His benefit was an overflow ! while poor John Barton, the Shaksperian scholar, the in nocently eccentric companion for a gentleman, whose talent, wrestling with infirmity, claimed the respect his private worth demanded from all who knew him, took, no doubt, his farewell forever of an American audience, and lost money by his ! CHAPTER XXI. Any scrap of Locke's poetical description of modem dis coveries in the moon, which may live in the memory of the reader, will be very applicable to the subject most promi nent in this chapter.— The Author. All the engagements terminated at the end of twenty weeks, which closed the season ; but a few members of the company with small sala ries, who could afford to accept one third, or even half of their former income, or, to speak plainly, who could not afford to go without any income at all, commenced a new campaign un der the management of Mrs. Richardson, instead of Mr. Hodges. Madame Vestris, I believe, was the first to set this fashion of petticoat gov ernment, which has been followed, with various claims to popularity in this country, by Miss Cushman, Miss Maywood, Miss Virginia Mo- nier, Miss Clarendon, Mrs. Sefton, and now Mrs. Richardson, I am grieved to say, lent her name to eke out the very small demands on public favour of only half a company, only half paid. I had a right to a benefit during the twenty weeks, but the season had been so monopolized by sometimes two and three stars at a time, that I had to continue a week longer for a vacant night, and as in all probability I made my last appearance on that occasion, I'll reprint the bill. "MOBILE THEATRE, Under the management of Mrs. Richardson. FAREWELL BENEFIT OF Mr. JOE COWELL, Prior to his departure for some place, but where, He don't know, nor will anybody care. At the close of the performance, of course Mr. Cowell will be called out, but if not, he will go out, and have a splendid wreath thrown to him from a corner of the second tier, and be address ed from the stage-box by one of a committee of gentlemen who have long admired his privati wmih and public services, and be presented with An elegant Tin Cup ; to which he will make an extemporaneous reply, prepared for the occasion, after the manner of oth er distinguished artists. Among the many luxuries that could be na med for both mind and body, such as old wine, old books, and old boots, might be mentioned old plays; but old Joe Cowell being desirous to ¦please everybody, though he may lose his ass into the bargain, has made a selection of one about his own age ; two, born within his recollection, and another that never saw " the light of other days" till now, called Joe Short. Now Joe Cowell having the Assurance — not London — but of many friends, that they in tend to Meddle in his favour on this occasion, begs in a Couriley manner not to Dazzle, but in form the public that his benefit will take place on Friday evening, April 7th, 1843, when he hopes it will not be considered Pert his recom mending the patrons of the drama to keep Cool and Harkaway to the theatre, and have the Grace to give him a Spanker. The performance will commence with the first and second acts of LONDON ASSURANCE. Sir Harcourt Courtley - Mr. Bridges. Dazzle - - Mr. Ludlow. Meddle ¦ - - Mr. Cowell. Max Harkaway - - Mr. Germon. Charles Courtley - - Mr. Morton. Grace Harkaway - - Mrs. Mackenzie. Pert - - - - Mrs. Germon. After which, Not a Star, but a real Comet, from somewheres so far away down east that his childhood was passed in breaking day with/ brickbats, will appear and sing The Pizen Sarpient. By particular desire, OF AGE TO-MORROW. In which Mr. Ludlow will personate Seven Characters 1 1 — Maria, with a favourite song, Mrs. Richardson* To be followed by a new farce called JOE SHORT. Principal characters by Mr. Cowell, Mr. An- derton, Mr. Wright, Mrs. Mackenzie, Mrs.. Wright, and Mrs. Germon. To conclude with the WIDOW'S VICTIM. Jeremiah Clip, with his inimitable imitations - Mr. Cowell. Jenny - - Mrs. Richardson. The Widow Mrs. Mackenzie. The Splendid Tin Cup! will be exhibited on the day of performance, and a deposite at George Cullura's made at the bar by the committee, ' for Cowell's friends ta drink to his success in a bumper !" 102 THIRTY YEARS The resident population of Mobile is too re ined in taste, and too well acquainted with how -the drama ought to be conducted, to visit the theatre at all, unless very superior attraction be offered ; and at this season of the year all stran- ,gers are moving homeward as fast as they can, with the exception of the new members of the Can't-get-away Club, and, poor fellows, their play- going days were passed long ago. Now setting at defiance all these disadvantages, the steward ¦ of the steamboat Southerner, who had so far the advantage of Dumas that he had a taste for acting as well as managing, opened a new es tablishment in a large room over the Corinthian — a splendid grogshop— and called it the Ameri can Theatre. Mr. and Mrs. Hodges, Sinclair, and Jemmy Thome were engaged as stars ; there- were none but stars employed, I believe, including the stew ard, who, unfortunately, indulged himself by giv- .ing his conception of Richard the Third, and got jhissed so heartily that he advertised his retirement from dramatic life at the end of the week; and an the same paper I saw that " the American Theatre was, for the future," to be under the -management of the pretty young woman who played Grace Harkaway originally, and so very badly, at the Park. To effectively compete with such an opposi tion, Doctor Lardner was engaged at the theatre 4o deliver a course of astronomical lectures, and, in excellent taste, Mr. George Holland to ex hibit his magnificent Optical Illusions on the same evenings! For some time past a horde of locomotive jpenny-magazine men had been scattering their real and pretended knowledge about the country, •dignified by the name of lectures, till, like every bubble fashion indiscriminately inflates, the practice had become most ridiculously distend- •ed. Of course, the more inexplicable the sub ject of dissertation, the more attractive; and, ?therefore, every description of mysterious hum- buggery had been administered, and greedily swallowed, and followed, though decency might be set at defiance under the influence of exhilara ting gas, or common sense prostrated by experi mental Mesmerism. This imbecile mania pro- -duced some little good, at any rate. It had open- -ed an unexpected. path for a fewscientific men, with a small share of worldly tact, and expensive ifamilies, to find a ready money-market for their hitherto unsaleable philosophical attainments. The doctor was one of these; and very judi ciously took the moon by the horns, by way of a bold beginning, and without much danger of •the numerous intellectual itinerant quacks pre-; suming to intrude with him "Into the heaven of heavens !" A very fashionable audience attended his first lecture. The upper portion of the theatre was kept closed on the occasion, and very prudently, too, for I certainly think the gods would never have sat quietly and patiently for an hour and a half to hear their old acquaintance, the moon, abused like a pickpocket. All that portion of her early history which we usually learn in the nursery — so simple, and yet so wonderful — was most agreeable to hear repeated with a bit of the brogue ; but devil a bit of the blarny was" used to describe her, now that she is found out to be a hard, ill-formed, chaotic lump of disagreeableness, " without one good quality under heaven." The doctor is such a notoriously gallant man, too, that one would have thought her grammat ical sex would have protected her from the rude and familiar manner in which he spoke of her behind her back, as if she were " Ease and unlustrous as the smoky light That's fed with stinking tallow." And, after setting the only beauty he allowed her to possess (and that a borrowed one) at de fiance, with his proposed Drummond Pharos, he must have the Irish impudence of Daniel O'Con nell himself if ever he looked her in the face again. And her inhabitants, too, if she has any, according to his account, are the most unpleas- . ant people on earth — neither able to walk, talk, smell, see, hear, touch, taste, nor do anything like other respectable persons. In short, as But ler • says of some other lecturer, more than a century and a half ago, " Her secrets understood so clear, That some believed he had been there ; Told what her d'meter t'an inch is, And proved that she's not made of green cheese." In fact, destroying, in very commonplace prose, half the charm of Moore's poetry ; and, indeed, everybody's poetry ; and what is worse, and cruel, annihilating, with these scientific imagin ings, the childish hope (if you please) of the poor shipwrecked mariner, who cheats despair with the innocent reliance on the moon's change to bring relief, while clinging to life, "with one plank between him and destruction." But, se riously, if all Doctor Lardner said that night is really true, and any one believed that it was, " A sadder and a wiser man He rose the morrow mom." George Holland's exhibition followed. He is a man after my own heart, and thinks, with old John Ford, " Far better 'tis To bless the sun, than reason why he shines." His magic lantern was wisely introduced be tween the first and second parts of the lunatic harangue, and the audience seemed to express their sense of the pleasing relief by their fre quent approbation. This was as it should be; this was delightful; it disturbed no innocently happy belief, but brought back, in all its fresh ness, the days of our childhood — the Christmas holydays, the evening at home, the hoarse mu sic of the grinding organ, and the cry of the shivering Italian " Gallantee show!" indistinctly heard through the pattering rain. The joyous preparation for its reception — the screen put round the blazing fire, the large table-cloth fork ed against the wall, and the homely, moral fun, never to be forgotten, of pull devil! pull baker ! But, when you come to think of it, what a strange combination to form a fashionable en tertainment in this lecturing age, in a play house, instead of the sterling comedy, supported by the educated, good old actor, "all ofthe old en time !" The doctor labouring with scientific enthusiasm to make you look with philosophic apathy, instead of awe and admiration, on one of the most conspicuous wonders in nature ; and Holland, with his show, demanding you to be once more a child, to enable you to express de light at his little trifles in art. As I wandered through Orange Grove, on my way to my solitary lodgings, I looked up at " Mine own loved light," and could not help but regret that Ijocke's de scription of her had so soon been found out to PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 103 be a hoax. What glorious playhouse lectures he could have made ! " with new scenery, ma chinery, dresses, and decorations;" much more agreeable to listen to, and quite as easy to be lieve, as Dr. Lardner's learned suppositions. The next day I went to New-Orleans. As I had predicted before the building was completed, Caldwell had been unable to maintain the Amer ican ; his system is too legitimate for these de generate days. At the end of a month he pub lished a manly valedictory, and bade farewell to management forever. Dinneford, who had achieved some unenviable notoriety as a theatri cal speculator at New- York, some how or anoth er became the lessee. His career, as might have been expected/was of very short duration. Mrs. Sefton now had the control : the company was small, but her superior talent and experienced energy made it respectably effective. I looked in only for an instant. Connor was toddling about as Richelieu, and Rowly Marks, a distin guished member of the Synagogue, with an ex traordinary large emblem ol Christianity tied round his middle, toddling after him "as " Jo-o- zeph." Ludlow and Smith had managed to scrape to gether some bricks and mortar, and built a small, unpretending affair, in one corner of the ruins of the Temple, and called it the St. Charles. The interior is very neat and pretty. The night I was there, Colonel Richard M. Johnson, the ex- Vice-president of the United States, had also hon oured the theatre with his presence, but there was a very slim house, notwithstanding — very few ladies ; and a Quadroon ball happening on the same evening, at which, it was ridiculously hinted, it was the intention of the colonel to at tend, accounted for the absence of that portion ofthe audience. On the day that the fanatic, Miller, said the world would end, I took my departure from the- Balize — which is more like the last end of it than any place that can be imagined — in the- brig Orchilla, bound to Baltimore, with her holds full of pork, and a deck-load of molasses andf blue-bottle flies. THE END. 3 9002 tea ,-.".:. ¦¦;¦..,.;,¦¦.¦:¦. ;