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FORTHWITH, I put myself into active training, and got into splendid
condition for doing “justice to Ireland.” I read Moore's Melodies; I
played Nora Creina upon the flute, not perhaps with that rapidity
which is usual outside the Peepshows, but with much more expression;
I discoursed with reapers; I tried to pronounce Drogheda, till I was
nearly black in the face; I drank whiskey-punch (subsequently discovered
to be Hollands); I ate Irish stew (a dish never heard of in that
country) and I bought the sweetest thing in portmanteaus, with drawers,
trays, pockets, compartments, recesses, straps, and buckles, more than
enough to drive that traveller mad, who should forget where he had
placed his razors. Amid these preparations, I am ashamed to state, that
I became disgracefully oblivious of my little disappointment in the
shrubberies, and soon realised the Chinese maxim, more truthful than
genteel,--“the dog that is idle barks at his fleas, but he that is
hunting feels them not.” Indeed, to make my confession complete, and to
descend the staircase of inconstancy to the lowest depth of humiliation,
I must acknowledge that on the day of our departure I fell violently in
love at Crewe Station, whence my heart was borne away, in the direction
of Derby, by the loveliest girl, that is to say, one of the loveliest
girls, that ever beautified an express train.
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I begin to fear that my unhappy tendencies to this kind of fierce, but
fugitive attachment, have not been at all improved by communion with Mr.
Thomas Moore, and I tremble to find myself listening complacently to the
fickle philosophies of Marmontel,--“_Quand on na pas ce que ion aime, il
faut aimer ce que l'on a._”
“The Rows” of Chester are very picturesque and quaint, but do not make
a favourable impression upon a giant with a new hat, and, being on the
upper side of six feet, I was glad to leave them for that pleasant,
briny, breezy, railway, which takes one, _via_ Conway, to Bangor, and
thence,--thundering through the Britannia Tube, and just allowing
a glimpse of Telfords triumph, the Bridge of the Menai, grand and
graceful,--over drear Anglesea, 1 to Holyhead. And, oh, how glad we
were, to find old Neptune in his mildest mood, only now and then just
raising his shoulders, as some good-humoured athlete, who should say,
“I'm in the jolliest frame of mind, my lads, but I could pitch the
biggest of you into the middle of next week, any moment, with the most
perfect ease.”
1 In the time of the Druids it was called “_the Shady
Island_,” and, though no longer umbrageous, the name is not
altogether inappropriate.
Pleasant it was to pace the broad, clear deck, with perfectly obedient
legs, and to ask what we could have for dinner, with a real curiosity
on the subject. Frank C--------, not distinguished for deeds of naval
daring, began, in the joy of his heart, to sing songs of an ultra-marine
description, alluding to the land with severe disparagement, and
stigmatising that element as “the dull, tame shore.” I must say, that
when I heard him chanting,--
“Give to me the swelling breeze,
And white waves heaving high,”
I trembled to think what a change would take place in the keynote of
that cheery vocalist, and what dismal misereres would ensue, should his
rash petition be conceded. Happily it was not attended to, and we had
but one invalid, a lady (the captain very properly put a young man in
irons, for saying something about no Cyc-lades in these seas); and she,
I believe, only wanted sympathy and sherry from her husband, who was
evidently a recent capture, and who administered both these cordials
in due proportions, first a sip and then a kiss, ever and anon, when
he thought that no one was looking, taking liberal gulps for his own
private refreshment.
It was very beautiful, as the day declined, to watch the vivid
phosphorescence of the sea, myriads of those marine glow-worms, whose
proper names I know not, but who cause this brilliant phenomenon,
lighting up their tiny lamps. Then the light of “Ireland's eye” (bright
and clear, though there must be a sty _there_), seemed to welcome
us, blinking bonnily; and entering the bay of Dublin, with grateful
recollections of its haddock, we were safely landed upon Kingstown
quay. Forty minutes more on the rail, and we reach the city, some of
our fellow-passengers having only left London that morning, and having
travelled from one capital to the other in little more than twelve
hours.
We had our first experience of Ireland proper when, emerging from the
station at Dublin, we called for an “outside car,” and a son of Nimshi,
responding in the distance, charged down upon us through a phalanx
of vehicles, and reached us, I know not how, amid the acrimonious
observations of his brethren. The first feeling, as we sat on the
low-backed car, “travelling edgeways,” as Sir Francis Head designates
this style of transit, was one of extreme insecurity, and though we
laughed, and made believe that we liked it, we were glad enough to hold
on by the iron-work until we arrived at Morrisson's. Our account with
the charioteer was as follows:--
S. D.
To Driver..........................................16
To small boy, seated at drivers feet,
whipping the horse, and exciting him with cries of
“Yap”..............................................06
To man, for holding on our luggage, by
embracing it with extended arms....................10
Total..................................................30
In the next place, we committed the pious fraud of making a hearty
supper under pretence of tea, instructing Mark the waiter, very willing
and active, but with no time for works of supererogation, to brew us
a large vessel of that beverage (which we never touched), as though
it gave a dignity to the proceeding, and justified, by its respectable
appearance, our large potations of _Guinness_. So we drew on to
midnight, and to (_Ay de mi!_ Won't my friend with the bandy legs
denounce “this wine-bibbing book”? ) Irish whiskey. Nevertheless, of
Irish whiskey this must be said, that, when tastefully arranged, it's a
drink for dukes; and he who skilleth not to brew it, _more Hibernico_,
may thank me, perhaps, for thus instructing him,--_Imprimis_, to take
the chill off his tumbler (just as he would air his best bed for a
beloved friend) by holding it for a few seconds over the hot water;
_secondly_, to dissolve three lumps of sugar, medium size, in a small
quantity of _aqua calidissima_; _thirdly_, to pour in the whiskey
(_Kinahans “LL._”) from one of those delightful little decanters, which
would make such charming adjuncts to a doll's dinner party; _fourthly_,
to fill up and drink. Frank suggests a _soupçon_ of lemon; and this
was the sole point upon which, throughout our tour, we were not quite
unanimous!