The season of spring gives us lamb and violets, salmon and patron
saints. St. David and St. Patrick are commemorated in March, St. George
only waits until April. (Of this last-named saint a very careful notice
has for some time been in preparation, to include six autobiographical
anecdotes of his boyish days, a selection from his unpublished
correspondence with his laundress, and an authentic portrait of his
chief antagonist--the Dragon.)
[Illustration: SUNDAY AT THE ZOO.--"Excuse me, sorr; but can ye direct
me to the goin' out intrance?"]
St. Patrick's Day! the heart leaps up with uncontrolled delight, and a
flood of popular airs comes rushing o'er the brain. What reminiscences
of by-gone days invade the territory of the mind! All the population
of Dublin, headed by the Lord-Lieutenant and Ulster King-at-Arms,
abroad at daybreak, looking for four-leaved shamrocks in the Ph[oe]nix
Park, and singing Moore's _Melodies_ in unison; an agreeable mixture
of whiskey and water provided in unlimited quantities in every market
town in Ireland, the expense of the water being defrayed out of
the Consolidated Fund; the Lord Mayor of Dublin presented with a new
shillelagh of polished oak, bound with brass, purchased by the united
contributions of every grown-up citizen bearing the name of Patrick;
the constabulary in new boots; a public dinner on the Blarney Stone,
and a fancy-dress ball on the Wicklow Mountains! These are but a
few of the marks of distinction showered on this memorable day by
Erin's grateful sons and daughters, who owe to St. Patrick two of the
greatest distinctions that ever befell them--freedom from serpents,
snakes, scorpions, efts, newts, tadpoles, chameleons, salamanders,
daddy-long-legs, and all other venomous reptiles, and instruction in
six lessons, in "the true art of mixing their liquor, an art," it has
been well observed, "which has never since been lost."
This leaning of the Saint to potheen is viewed, however, by one section
of the community with manifest displeasure--the Temperance and Teetotal
Societies--who remain indoors the whole of the day with the blinds
closely drawn down and straw in front of their houses, and employ paid
emissaries to distribute tracts amongst their excitable countrymen.
[Illustration: _Irish porter (thrusting his head into a compartment as
the train stops at small, dingy, ill-lit country station)._ "Is thur
annybody there for here?"]
The notorious fact that St. Patrick lived to be considerably more
than a hundred, cut a wisdom tooth at ninety-eight, never had a day's
illness in his life, was possessed of funded property, and could see
to read without spectacles until within six weeks of his untimely end
(caused by a fall from a cherry tree), speaks libraries for the tonic
and salubrious qualities of that stimulating spirit, which has ever
since his day been known and highly appreciated under the name of
"L.L.," or Long Livers' Whiskey.
A curious custom is kept up by the Knights of the Order of St. Patrick
(founded by King Brian Boroo the Fourteenth) on the morning of this
day, the origin of which is lost among the wilds of Connemara. Before
it is light the Knights all go up in their robes and shamrocks, one
by one, into the belfry of the Cathedral, and toll the great bell one
hundred and twenty-three times, the exact number of years to which the
Saint, in forgetfulness of Sir George Cornwall Lewis and the Editor of
_Notes and Queries_, is said to have attained. They then parade the
principal streets of Dublin on piebald horses, preceded by a band of
music and the Law Officers of the Crown, and disperse at a moment's
notice, no one knows where.
[Illustration: GRANDILOQUENCE.--_Captain of schooner._ "What 'a' you
got there, Pat?"
_Pat (who has been laying in some firewood and potatoes)._ "Timber and
fruit, yer honour!!"]
St. Patrick's tastes were athletic. He had a wart on his forehead, and
a cousin in the militia; and displayed a profound acquaintance with the
laws of short whist, then in its infancy. He was an early riser, a deep
thinker, and a careless dresser, and foresaw, with an eagle glance, the
gradual development of the railway system, while his declining years
were soothed by the devoted attentions of some of the oldest families
in Ireland.
* * * * *
NEW BULLS _v._ OLD COWS.--At the Thames Police Court Mr. Benson
condemned the owner and vendor of a quantity of old Irish cow beef to
penalties for selling meat unfit for human consumption. This should be
a warning to all whom it may concern, that though new Irish bulls may
be introduced freely, and even be relished in this country, there is no
toleration for old Irish cows on this side St. George's Channel.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Irish Driver._ "Yes, yer 'onner, it's a nasty bit
o'road, it is, an' it's likely ye are to 'ave a fall out, if ye aren't
drivin' careful!"]
[Illustration: "CIRCUMSTANTIAL."--_Counsel for the Prisoner._ "And you
tell me, sir, you saw that blind, helpless fiddler kick the prosecutor
on the head along with his other assailants?"
_Witness._ "I did, surr! In the thick o' the shindy, I seen the ould
vagabone a-feelin' round an' round that honest poor man down on the
flewer till he'd found a vacancy, whin he ups wid his fut an' lits fly,
the divil's own shoe-full clane into the centre ov't!!!"]
[Illustration: "HOPE SPRINGS ETERNAL----."--_Irish Landlord (in
distressed district, who had paid compensation for not receiving his
rents, and was sinking his capital in draining-works, and otherwise
"disturbing" his tenants)._ "Well, Pat, I hope, with a good harvest, we
shall get on without all this 'relief' next season----"
_Pat (an optimist)._ "Och, plaze heaven, yer honour, we'll have another
bad year yet!!"]
[Illustration: WHEN YOU _ARE_ ABOUT IT.--_Magister Familias (parting
with his butler)._ "Here is the letter, Flanagan. I can conscientiously
say you are honest and attentive, but I should have to stretch a point
if I were to say you are sober."
_Mr. Flanagan._ "Thank you, sor. But when you _are_ afther strritchin'
a point, sor, wouldn't you, plase, sthritch it a little further, and
say I'm _aften_ sober!!"]
[Illustration: LEVELLING UP.--_Subaltern (just arrived by rail)._ "How
much to the barracks?" _Car-driver_. "Ah, shure, thin, captin, the
manest ov 'em gives me t'ree and sixpence!"]
[Illustration: "So this is your native place, Pat?"
"Yes, your riverence--that is, _par-r-t of the toime_!"]
[Illustration: "A PRIVATE VIEW."--_Pat._ "What d'ye think of the Home
Rule Bill, Murphy?" _Murphy (puzzled)._ "Begorra, if it means staying
at home with the ould woman every blessed day, home rule won't do for
me at all, at all!"]