From Carrickfergus to Cape Clear, the whole island is on the “_qui
vive_” as to whether her gracious majesty the queen will vouchsafe to
visit us in the ensuing summer. The hospitable and magnificent reception
which awaited her in Scotland has given a more than ordinary impulse to
every plan by which we might evince our loyalty, and exhibit ourselves
to our sovereign in a point of view not less favourable than our worthy
neighbours across the sea.
At first blush, nothing would seem more easy to accomplish than this.
A very cursory glance at Mr. O'Connell's speeches will convince any one
that a land more favourably endowed by nature, or blessed with a finer
peasantry, never existed: with features of picturesque beauty dividing
the attention of the traveller, with the fertility of the soil; and,
in fact, presenting such a panorama of loveliness, peace, plenty, and
tranquillity, that a very natural doubt might occur to Sir Robert Peel's
mind in recommending this excursion to her majesty, lest the charms of
such an Arcadia should supersede the more homely attractions of England,
and “our ladye the queene” preferring the lodge in the Phoenix to the
ancient towers of Windsor, fix her residence amongst us, and thus at
once repeal the Union.
It were difficult to say if some vision of this kind did not float
across the exalted imagination of the illustrious Daniel, amid that
shower of fortune's favours such a visit would inevitably bring
down--baronetcies, knighthood deputy-lieutenancies would rain upon the
land, and a general epidemic of feasting and festivity raise every heart
in the island, and nearly break Father Mathew's.
If the Scotch be warm in their attachment, our affections stand at a
white heat; if they be enthusiastic, we can go clean mad; and for that
one bepraised individual who boasted he would never wash the hand which
had the honour to touch that of the queen, we could produce a round ten
thousand whose loyalty, looking both ways, would enable them, under such
circumstances, to claim superiority, as they had never washed theirs
since the hour of their birth.
Notwithstanding all these elements of hospitality, a more mature
consideration of the question would show how very difficult it would
be to compete successfully with the visit to Scotland. Clanship, the
remains of feudalism, and historical associations, whose dark colours
have been brought out into glowing brightness under the magic pencil
of Scott--national costume and national customs--the wild sports of the
wilder regions--all conspired to give a peculiar interest to this
royal progress; and from the lordly Baron of Breadalbane to the kilted
Highlander upon the hills, there was something of ancient splendour
and by-gone homeliness mixed up together that may well have evoked the
exclamation of our queen, who, standing on the terrace at Drummond, and
gazing on the scent below her, uttered--“How grand!”
Now, unfortunately in many, if not in all these advantages, we have no
participation. Clanship is unknown amongst us,--only one Irishman has a
tail, and even that is as ragged an appendage as need be. Our national
costume is nakedness; and of our national customs, we may answer as the
sailor did, who, being asked what he had to say in his defence against
a charge of stealing a quadrant, sagely replied--“Your worship, it's a
damn'd ugly business, and the less that's said about it the better.”
Two doubts press upon us--who is to receive her Majesty; and how are
they to do it? They who have large houses generally happen to have small
fortunes, and among the few who have adequate means, there is scarcely
one who could accommodate one half of the royal suite. In Scotland,
everything worthy of being seen lies in a ring-fence. The Highlands
comprise all that is remarkable in the country; and thus the tour of
them presents a quick succession of picturesque beauty without the
interval of even half a day's journey devoid of interest. Now, how many
weary miles must her Majesty travel in Ireland from one remarkable spot
to another--what scenes of misery and want must she wade through from
the south to the west. Would any charms of scenery--would any warmth
of hospitality--repay her for the anguish such misery must inflict upon
her, as her eye would range over the wild tract of country where want
and disease seem to have fixed their dwelling, and where the only
edifice that rises above the mud-cabin of the way-side presents the red
brick front of a union poor-house? These, however, are sad topics--what
are we to do with the Prince? His Royal Highness loves sporting: we have
scarcely a pheasant--we have not one capercailzie in the island; but
then we have our national pastimes. If we cannot turn out a stag to
amuse him, why we can enlarge a tithe-proctor; and, instead of coming
home proud that he has bagged a roe, he shall exult in having brought
down a rector. How poor and insignificant would any _battue_ be in
comparison with a good midnight burning--how contemptible the pursuit,
of rabbits and hares, when compared with a “tithe affray,” or the last
collision with the military in Tipperary. I have said that the Scotch
have a national costume; but if _semi_-nakedness be a charm in them,
what shall be said of us, who go the “whole hog?” The details of their
ancient dress--their tartan, their kilt, their philabeg, that offered so
much interest to the royal suite--how shall they vie with the
million-coloured patches of an Irishman's garment? or what bonnet that
ever flaunted in the breeze is fit to compare with the easy jauntiness
of Paddy's _caubeen_, through which, in lieu of a feather, a lock of his
hair is floating?
“Nor clasp nor nodding plume was there;”
“But for feather he wore one lock of hair.”
Marmion.
Then, again, how will the watch-fires that blazed upon the mountains
pale before the glare of a burning haggard; and what cheer that ever
rose from Highland throats will vie with the wild yell of ten thousand
Black-feet on the march of a midnight marauding? No, no; it is quite
clear the Scotch have no chance with us. Her Majesty may not have all
her expectations fulfilled by a visit to Ireland; but most assuredly a
“touch of our quality” will show her many things no near country could
present, and the probability is, she will neither have time nor leisure
for a trip to New Zealand.
Everything that indicates nationality will then have its reward. Grave
dignitaries of the Church will practise the bagpipes, and prothonotaries
will refresh their jig-dancing; whatever is Irish, will be _la vogue_;
and, instead of reading that her Majesty wore a shawl of the Gordon
tartan, manufactured at Paisley, we shall find that the Queen appeared
in a novel pattern of rags, devised at Mud Island; while his Royal
Highness will compliment the mildness of our climate by adopting our
national dress. What a day for Ireland that will be!--we shall indeed be
great, glorious, and free; and if the evening only concludes with the
Irish Quadrilles, I have little doubt that her Majesty will repeat her
exclamation of “How grand!” as she beholds the members of the royal
suite moving gracefully to the air of “Stony-batter.”
Let us, then, begin in time. Let there be an order of council to
preserve all the parsons, agents, tithe-proctors, and landlords till
June; let there be no more shooting in Tipperary for the rest of the
season; let us “burke” Father Mathew, and endeavour to make our heads
for the approaching festivities; and what between the new poor-law and
the tariff, I think we shall be by that time in as picturesque a state
of poverty as the most critical stickler for nationality would desire.