AN IRISH ENCORE.

[Illustration: 122]

We certainly are a very original people, and contrive to do everything

after a way of our own! Not content with cementing our friendships by

fighting, and making the death of a relative the occasion of a merry

evening, we even convert the habits we borrow from other land into

something essentially different from their original intention, and

infuse into them a spirit quite national. The echo which, when asked

“How d'ye do, Paddy Blake?” replied, “Mighty well, thank you,” could

only have been an Irish echo. Any other country would have sulkily

responded, “Blake--ake--ake--ake,” in _diminuendo_ to the end of the

chapter. But there is a courtesy, an attention, a native politeness on

our side of the channel, it is in vain to seek elsewhere. A very strong

instance in point occurs in a morning paper before me, and one so

delightfully characteristic of our habits and customs, it would be

unpardonable to pass it without commemoration. At an evening concert

at the Rotundo, we are informed that Mr Knight--I believe his name

is--enchanted his audience by the charming manner he sung “Molly

Astore.” Three distinct rounds of applause followed, and an encore that

actually shook the building, and may--though we are not informed of

the circumstance--have produced very remarkable effects in the adjacent

institution; upon which Mr. Knight, with his habitual courtesy, came

forward and sang--what, think ye, good reader? Of course you will

say, “Molly Astore,” the song he was encored for. Alas! for your

ignorance;--that might do very well in Liverpool or Manchester, at Bath,

Bristol, or Birmingham--the poor benighted Saxons there might like to

get what they asked so eagerly for; but we are men of very different

mould, and not accustomed to the jog-trot subserviency of such

common-sense notions; and accordingly, Mr. Knight sang “The Soldier

Tired”--a piece of politeness on his part that actually convulsed the

house with acclamations; and so on to the end of the entertainment, “the

gentleman, when encored, invariably sang a new song”--I quote the paper

_verbatim_--“which testimony of his anxiety to meet the wishes of the

audience afforded universal satisfaction.”

Now, I ask--and I ask it in all the tranquillity of triumph--show me the

country on a map where such a studied piece of courteous civility

could have been practised, or which, if attempted, could have been so

thoroughly, so instantaneously appreciated. And what an insight does

it give us into some of the most difficult features of our national

character. May not this Irish encore explain the success with which Mr.

O'Connell consoles our “poverty” by attacks on the clergy, and relieves

our years of scarcity by creating forty-shilling freeholders. We ask for

bread; and he tells us we are a great people--we beg for work, and

he replies, that we must have repeal of the union--we complain of our

poverty, and his remedy is--subscribe to the rent. Your heavy-headed

Englishman--your clod-hopper from Yorkshire--or your boor from

Northumberland, would never understand this, if you gave him a life-long

to con over it. Norfolk pudding to his gross and sensual nature would

seem better than the new registration bill; and he'd rather hear the

simmering music of the boiled beef for his dinner, than all the rabid

ruffianism of a repeal meeting.

But to come back to ourselves. What bold and ample views of life do our

free-and-easy habits disclose to us, not to speak of the very servant

at table, who will often help you to soup, when you ask for sherry, and

give you preserves, when you beg for pepper. What amiable cross-purposes

are we always playing at--not bigotedly adhering to our own narrow

notions, and following out our own petty views of life, but eagerly

doing what we have no concern in, and meritoriously performing for our

friends, what they had been well pleased, we'd have let alone.

This amiable waywardness--this pleasing uncertainty of

purpose--characterises our very climate; and the day that breaks in

sunshine becomes stormy at noon, calm towards evening, and blows a

hurricane all night. So the Irishman that quits his home brimful of

philanthropy is not unlikely to rob a church before his return. But so

it is, there is nobody like us in any respect. We commemorate the advent

of a sovereign by erecting a testimonial to the last spot he stood on

at his departure; and we are enthusiastic in our gratitude when, having

asked for one favour, we receive something as unlike it as possible.

Our friends at the other side are beginning to legislate for us in

the true spirit of our prejudices; and when we have complained of “a

beggared proprietary and a ruined gentry,” they have bolstered up our

weakness with the new poor law. So much for an Irish encore.

“The sixth of Anne, chap, seventeen, makes it unlawful to keep

gaming-houses in any part of the city except the 'Castle,' and prohibits

any game being played even there except during the residence of the Lord

Lieutenant. This act is still on the statute book.”--_Dublin Paper_.

One might puzzle himself for a very long time for an explanation of

this strange _morceau_ of legislation, without any hope of arriving at a

shadow of a reason for it.

That gaming should be suppressed by a government is in no wise

unnatural; nor should we feel any surprise at our legislature having

been a century in advance of France, in the due restriction of this

demoralizing practice. But that the exercise of a vice should be limited

to the highest offices of the state is, indeed, singular, and demands no

little reflection on our part to investigate the cause.

Had the functions of Lord Lieutenant of Ireland been of that drowsy,

tiresome, uninteresting nature, that it was only deemed fair by the

legislature to afford him some amusing pastime to distract his “_ennui_”

and dispel his melancholy, there might seem to have been then some

reason for this extraordinary enactment. On the contrary, however, every

one knows that from the remotest times to the present, every viceroy of

Ireland has had quite enough on his hands. Some have been saving money

to pay off old mortgages, others were farming the Phoenix; some took to

the King Cambyses' vein, like poor dear Lord Normanby--raked up all the

old properties and faded finery of the Castle, and with such material as

they could collect, made a kind of Drury-lane representation of a court.

And very lately, and with an originality so truly characteristic of true

genius, Lord Ebrington struck out a line of his own, and slept away

his time with such a persevering intensity of purpose, that “the

least wide-awake” persons of his government became actually ashamed of

themselves. But to go back. What, I would ask, was the intention of

this act? I know you give it up. Well, now, I have made the matter the

subject of long and serious thought, and I think I have discovered it.

Have you ever read, in the laws of the smaller German states, the

singular rules and regulations regarding the gaming-table? If so,

you will have found how the entire property of the “rouge et noi”

and “roulette” is vested in certain individuals in return for very

considerable sums of money, paid by them to the government, for the

privilege of robbing the public. These honourable and estimable people

farm out iniquity as you would do your demesne, selling the cheatable

features of mankind, like the new corn law, on the principle of “a

general average.” The government of these states, finding--no uncommon

thing in Germany--a deficiency in their exchequer, have hit upon

this ready method of supplying the gap, by a system which has all the

regularity of a tax, with the advantage of a voluntary contribution.

These little kingdoms, therefore, of some half-dozen miles in

circumference, are nothing more than _rouge et noir_ tables, where the

grand duke performs the part of croupier, and gathers in the gold. Now,

I am convinced that something of this kind was intended by our lawgivers

in the act of parliament to which I have alluded, and that its programme

might run thus--that “as the office of Lord Lieutenant in Ireland is one

of great responsibility, high trust, and necessarily demanding profuse

expenditure; and that, as it may so happen that the same should, in

the course of events, be filled by some Whig-Radical viceroy of great

pretension and little property; and that as the ordinary sum for

maintaining his dignity may be deemed insufficient, we hereby give him

the exclusive liberty and privilege of all games of chance, skill,

or address, in the kingdom of Ireland, whether the same may be

chicken-hazard, blind hookey, head and tail, &c.--thimble-rigging was

only known later--to be enjoyed by himself only, or by persons deputed

by him; such privilege in nowise to extend to the lords justices, but

only to exist during the actual residence and presence of the Lord

Lieutenant himself.”--_See the Act_.

I cannot but admire the admirable tact that dictated this portion of

legislation; at the same time, it does seem a little hard that the

chancellor, the archbishop, and the other high functionaries, who

administer the law in the absence of the viceroy, should not have

been permitted the small privilege of a little unlimited loo, or even

beggar-my-neighbour, particularly as the latter game is the popular one

in Ireland.

There would seem, too, something like an appreciation of our national

character in the spirit of this law, which, unhappily for England, and

Ireland, too, has not always dictated her enactments concerning us. It

is well known that we hate and abhor anything in the shape of a legal

debt. Few Irishmen will refuse you the loan of five pounds; still fewer

can persuade themselves to pay five shillings. The kingdom of Galway

has long been celebrated for its enlightened notions on this subject,

showing how much more conducive it is to personal independence and

domestic economy, to spend five hundred pounds in resisting a claim,

than to satisfy it by the payment of twenty. Accordingly, had any

direct taxation of considerable amount been proposed for the support of

viceregal dignity, the chances are--much as we like show and glitter,

ardently as we admire all that gives us the semblance of a state--we

should have buttoned up our pockets, and upon the principle of those

economical little tracts, that teach us to do so much for ourselves,

every man would have resolved to be “his own Lord Lieutenant;” coming,

however, in the shape of an indirect taxation, a voluntary contribution

to be withheld at leasure, the thing was unobjectionable.

You might not like cards, still less the company--a very possible

circumstance, the latter, in some times we wot of not long since--Well,

then, you saved your cash and your character by staying at home; on the

other hand, it was a comfort to know that you could have your rubber

of “shorts” or your game at _écarté_, while at the same time you were

contributing to the maintenance of the crown, and discharging the

_devoirs_ of a loyal subject It is useless, however, to speculate upon

an obsolete institution; the law has fallen into disuse, and the more is

the pity. How one would like to have seen Lord Normanby, with that one

curl of infantine simplicity that played upon his forehead, with that

eternal leer of self-satisfied loveliness that rested on his features,

playing banker at _rouge et noir_, or calling the throws at hazard. I

am not quite so sure that the concern would have been so profitable as

picturesque. The principal frequenters of his court were “York too;”

Lord Plunket was a “downy cove;” and if Anthony Black took the box,

most assuredly “I'd back the caster.” Now and then, to be sure, a stray,

misguided country gentleman--a kind of “wet Tory”--used to be found at

that court; just as one sees some respectable matronly woman at Ems or

Baden, seated in a happy unconsciousness that all the company about

her are rogues and swindlers, so _he_ might afford some good sport, and

assist to replenish the famished exchequer. Generally speaking, however,

the play would not have kept the tables; and his lordship would have

been _in_ for the wax-lights, without the slightest chance of return.

As for his successor, “patience” would have been his only game; and

indeed it was one he had to practise whilst he remained amongst us.

Better days have now come: let us, therefore, inquire if a slight

modification of the act might not be effected with benefit, and an

amendment, somewhat thus, be introduced into the bill:--“That the words

'Lord Mayor' be substituted for the words 'Lord Lieutenant;' and that

all the privileges, rights, immunities, &c, aforesaid, be enjoyed by

him to his sole use and benefit; and also that, in place of the word

'Castle,' the word 'Mansion-house' stand part of this bill”--thus

reserving to his lordship all monopoly in games of chance and address,

without in anywise interfering with such practices of the like nature

exercised by him elsewhere, and always permitted and conceded by

whatever government in power.

Here, my dear countrymen, is no common suggestion. I am no prophet, like

Sir Harcourt Lees; but still I venture to predict, that this system

once legalised at the Mayoralty, the tribute is totally unnecessary.

The little town of Spa, with scarce 10,000 inhabitants, pays the

Belgian government 200,000 francs per annum for the liberty: what would

Dublin--a city so populous and so idle? only think of the tail!--how

admirably they could employ their little talent as “bonnets,” and

the various other functionaries so essential to the well-being of a

gambling-house; and, lastly, think of great Dan himself, with his burly

look, seated in civic dignity at the green cloth, with a rake instead

of a mace before him, calling out, “Make your game, gentlemen, make your

game”--“Never venture, never win”--“Faint heart,” &c, &c.

How suitable would the eloquence that has now grown tiresome, even at

the Corn Exchange, be at the head of a gaming-table; and how well would

the Liberator conduct a business whose motto is so admirably expressed

by the phrase, “Heads, _I_ win; tails, _you_ lose.” Besides, after

all, nothing could form so efficient a bond of union between the two

contending parties in the country as some little mutual territory of

wickedness, where both might forget their virtues and their grievances

together. Here you 'd soon have the violent party-man of either side,

oblivious of everything but his chance of gain; and what an energy would

it give to the great Daniel to think that, while filling his pockets, he

was also spoiling the Egyptians! Instead, therefore, of making the poor

man contribute his penny, and the ragged man twopence, you'd have

the Rent supplied without the trouble of collection; and all from the

affluent and the easy, or at least the idle, portion of the community.

This is the second time I have thrown out a suggestion--and all for

nothing, remember--on the subject of a finance; and little reflection

will show that both my schemes are undeniable in their benefits. Here

you have one of the most expensive pleasures a poor country has ever

ventured to afford itself--a hired agitator, pensioned, without any

burden on the productive industry of the land; and he himself, so far

from having anything to complain of, will find that his revenue is more

than quadrupled.

Look at the question, besides, in another point of view, and see what

possible advantages may arise from it. Nothing is so admirable an

antidote to all political excitement as gambling: where it flourishes,

men become so inextricably involved in its fascinations and attractions

that they forget everything else. Now, was ever a country so urgently

in want of a little repose as ours? and would it not be well to purchase

it, and pension off our great disturbers, at any price whatever? Cards

are better than carding any day; short whist is an admirable substitute

for insurrection; and the rattle of a dice-box is surely as pleasant

music as the ruffian snout for repeal.