+From the Lord Mayor of Dublin.+
_Mansion House, Dublin, Saturday_.
+Dear Toby+,
The news from Ireland, not all of which finds its way into your daily
papers, grows in excitement. The exploit of Mr. +Douglas P-ne+, M.P., of
Lisfinny Castle, has taken root, and all the landed gentry among the
Irish Members are fortifying themselves in their castles, and hanging
themselves outside the front-door by ropes to deliver addresses to their
constituents. The regular thing now is to hang out our M.P.'s on the
outer wall. I do not see accounts of these proceedings in your London
papers. I was, as you know, a Journalist before I was Lord Mayor; so, if
you don't mind, I'll send you a few jottings. If there is anything due
for lineage, please remit it anonymously to the Land League Fund "From A
Sympathiser."
Foremost in this band of heroic patriots is the _chatelain_ of
Butlerstown, +Joseph G-ll-s B-gg-r+, M.P., Butlerstown Castle, as
everyone acquainted with Ireland knows, stands on the summit of a Danish
rath, and was once the seat of an +O'Toole+. Now it is the den of
+Joseph G-ll-s+. For some time he has been practising a flying leap from
the eastern to the western turret, a distance of fifty feet over a
yawning abyss, amid the cavernous depths of which the petulant plummet
has played in vain. It is thrilling, whether at early dawn, or what time
the darkening wing of Night begins to flap, to hear a shrill cry of
"Hear, hear!" to see a well-known figure cleaving the astonished air,
and to behold +Joseph G-ll-s+, erewhile upright on the eastern turret,
prone on that which lifts its head nearer the setting sun. To be present
on one of the occasions when +Joey B+. reads a Blue Book for three hours
to a deputation shivering in the moat, is enough to convince the dullest
Saxon of the hopelessness of enthralling a nation which has given birth
to such as he. As +Joseph+ himself says, quoting, with slight variation,
my own immortal verse,--
"Whether on the turret high,
Or in the moat not dry,
What matter if for Ireland dear we talk!"
But the affairs at Butlerstown should not withdraw our gaze from a not
less momentous event which recently happened in the neighbourhood of
Cork city. Mr. +P-rn-ll+, as he has recently explained to you, has not
found it expedient or even necessary to take part in our recent public
proceedings in Ireland. But this abstention is to a certain extent
illusory. It is no secret in our inner circles that our glorious Chief
was but the other day in close communication with his constituents in
the city of Cork. He arrived shortly after breakfast in a balloon which
was skilfully brought to pause over the rising ground by Sunday's Well.
At the approach of the balloon the trained intelligence of the Police
fathomed the plot. The Privy Council was immediately communicated with.
Sworn information was laid, and the meeting was solemnly proclaimed by
telegraph. In the meanwhile, Mr. +P-rn-ll+ had addressed the meeting at
some length and met with an enthusiastic reception. The Police massing
in considerable numbers and beginning to baton the electors, the Hon.
Member poured a bag of ballast over them, and the balloon, gracefully
rising, disappeared in the direction of Limerick. The proceedings then
terminated.
I expect that the success of this new departure, or perhaps I should say
this unexpected arrival, will encourage our great Chief to pay a series
of flying visits to Ireland. His adventure was certainly happier and
more successful than one which befell our esteemed friend +Tim H-ly+,
and nearly brought to an untimely conclusion a life dear to us and of
inestimable value to Ireland. +Tim+ was announced to take the chair at a
mass meeting summoned under the auspices of the local branch of the Land
League of Longford. A room was taken, the word passed round, and all
preparations made for a successful meeting. The Police, however, got
wind of it, and of course the meeting was proclaimed. But +Tim+, as you
may happen to know, is not the man to have his purpose lightly set
aside. It was made known that +Tim+ would make his speech and the Police
might catch him if they could. You know, may be, the big factory in the
thriving town of Longford--the one with a tall chimbly? Well, the word
was passed along again that the bhoys were to assemble about the
factory. "Would they bring a chair or a table," they said, "for +Tim+ to
stand on?" "No," said +Tim+, wiping his spectacles, "you leave it to
me."
Meeting announced to take place at eight o'clock. On the very strike of
the hour, a stentorian voice, not unfamiliar in the House of Commons,
floated over the assembled multitude. "Men of Longford," it said, "we
are assembled here in the exercise of our privilege as free men." First
of all they could not tell where the voice came from. Looking up,
behold! there was +Tim+ planted inside the top of the tall chimbley,
using it like a Bishop's pulpit. It was a capital idea, and worked
admirably for half an hour, with the Police all throbbing and raging
round, and +Tim+ eyeing them quite calmly, and all the crowd roaring and
cheering, and throwing up their hats, and +B-lf-r+ getting it hot.
Somehow, whether from treachery or accident no one knows, and perhaps
never will know, but in the middle of one of his best sentences, +Tim+
suddenly vanished from sight, and was a clear three minutes later picked
up from among the cinders in the furnace below. The proceedings then
terminated.
There is a good deal more I could tell you, +Toby+, my bhoy, if time
permitted. I should like above all to tell you of Major +O'G-rm-n+'s
magnificent oration delivered from the main shaft of the sewer in
Waterford, with his former constituents hanging on his lips and the
grate of the sewer. But I am just off myself to address a meeting of my
fellow citizens. This too, is of course, proclaimed, and equally of
course that makes no difference. I get on the top of the Lord Mayor's
coach, leaning on the Mace, and supported by the Sword-bearer. The
horses move at walking pace, and I address the crowd. It's wonderful
what a lot one can take out of +B-lf-r+ that way.
Yours faithfully, +T. D. S-ll-v-n+.
* * * * *