* * * * *
It was not till after the preceding article had been in type that we were
informed that a notice of the Dalkey festivities had recently appeared
in the preface to the first volume of the beautiful edition of the poems
of our own national poet, Moore, just published; and as it adds some
interesting facts to those furnished by our own recollections, we gladly
present them to our readers, in the perfect confidence that they will be
read with that intense pleasure which his writings have rarely failed to
afford.
“It was in the year 1794, or about the beginning of the next, that I
remember having for the first time tried my hand at political satire. In
their very worst times of slavery and suffering the happy disposition of
my countrymen had kept their cheerfulness still unbroken and buoyant;
and at the period of which I am speaking the hope of a brighter day
dawning upon Ireland had given to the society of the middle class in
Dublin a more than usual flow of hilarity and life. Among other gay
results of this festive spirit, a club or society was instituted by some
of our most convivial citizens, one of whose objects was to burlesque,
good-humouredly, the forms and pomps of royalty. With this view they
established a sort of mock kingdom, of which Dalkey, a small island
near Dublin, was made the seat; and an eminent pawnbroker named Stephen
Armitage, much renowned for his agreeable singing, was the chosen and
popular monarch.
Before public affairs had become too serious for such pastimes, it
was usual to celebrate yearly at Dalkey the day of this sovereign’s
accession; and among the gay scenes that still live in my memory, there
are few it recalls with more freshness than this celebration on a
fine Sunday in summer of one of these anniversaries of King Stephen’s
coronation. The picturesque sea views of that spot, the gay crowds along
the shores, the innumerable boats full of life floating about, and
above all, the true spirit of mirth which the Irish temperament never
fails to lend to such meetings, rendered the whole a scene not easily
forgotten. The state ceremonies of the day were performed with all due
gravity within the ruins of an ancient church that stands on the island,
where his mock majesty bestowed the order of knighthood upon certain
favoured personages, and among others I recollect upon Incledon the
celebrated singer, who rose from under the touch of the royal sword with
the appropriate title of Sir Charles Melody. There was also selected
for the favours of the crown on that day a lady of no ordinary poetic
talent, Mrs Battier, who had gained much fame by some spirited satires
in the manner of Churchill, and whose kind encouragement of my early
attempts in versification were to me a source of much pride. This lady,
as was officially announced in the course of the day, had been appointed
his Majesty’s Poetess Laureate, under the style and title of Henrietta
Countess of Laurel.
There could hardly be devised a more apt vehicle for lively political
satire than this gay travestie of monarchical power and its showy
appurtenances so temptingly supplied. The very day indeed after this
commemoration there appeared in the usual record of Dalkey state
intelligence, an amusing proclamation from the king, offering a large
reward in _cronebanes_ (Irish halfpence) to the finder or finders of his
Majesty’s crown, which, owing to his ‘having measured both sides of the
road’ in his pedestrian progress from Dalkey on the preceding night, had
unluckily fallen from the royal brow.”